Winter above Wasdale
03rd March 2016
3rd March 16
Winter above Wasdale
It was a grey, overcast day and according to the weather forecast, there was little prospect of any sun to brighten the day. However, at least it appeared to be a still day as there was little wind, or so I thought.
My plan was, as usual, scant. I did intend to visit Wasdale as I was to meet a friend, nearby, later that day. However, what mountain I would climb, what route, how far I intended to walk were all unknown. I would decide on my drive to Wasdale and refine the plan based on local conditions.
Wasdale was very quiet, symbolised by only 4 cars parked at the valley head. With so few other folk about the wild character of valley is more easily understood. As I looked up to the precipitous crags of White Napes, surrounded by a sea of scree and boulders and with its famous Napes Needle just visible, I thought this must have been how the valley was 50 years ago. No extraneous noise of cars or marching walkers, just the wind blowing down the valley and the occasional baying sheep. I love Wasdale when it is like this and from my very first visit, I have always relished in the wildness and the severe mountain architecture of the valley.
The steep sided mountains present a seeminly impenetrable wall, giving the valley a fierce, rugged demeanour. These iconic mountains do not so much invite, but challenge and with the obvious remnants of winter clinging to the crags and dark, cold buttresses, this was a challenge not to be taken lightly.
However, as I still had not formed a plan in my mind as to what I would climb, I found myself ascending the slopes of the mighty Great Gable without my winter climbing gear. As I ascended the conditions changed radically and winter was firmly in control once I reached the hause (Beck Head) between Kirkfell and Great Gable.
The views here are some of the best you can get in the District. I looked down into the lonely, untamed Ennerdale and over to the Buttermere Fells. I was surrounded by steep sided slopes of crags and scree and had intimate views of England's highest, covered in snow and penetrated by deep Ghylls and ravines.
Therefore, I knew I had to now make good decisions as the conditions were likely to get worse higher I climbed, plus I was now exposed to a strong wind that was producing face piercing spindrift.
A quick coffee and a look at the map, I felt that Kirk Fell was the better choice. I could see that the main ridge was mostly free of snow and the map (and my previous visits) informed me that the summit was broad and held few rocky problems. How wrong I was.
On reaching the summit plateau I was now standing in a world encased in concrete hard snow. However hard I kicked into the snow, I made no impression. The slightest inclines had now become treacherous and the seemingly gentle slope to the summit was now an incline that would produce an uncontrollable slip. I therefore had no choice but to retreat. My lack of planning meant I didn't have the gear to safely proceed and especially not safely descend the far north eastern slope, as it would likely hold even harder winter conditions and the ground was steep.
The irony of all this was I had all my kit stored in the back of my car, but my general lack of planning and lack of desire to carry more than I had to had led me to this point. I was frustrated as I (probably irrationally) hate not getting to the summit, but I knew to carry on was full of risk. No, my best plan was to head back the way I came as I knew the ground was passable.
As I descended the weather worsened, with the wind increasing in strength and sleet and snow now blowing up the valley. My choice was not only the best decision, but also timely.
On my return, I sat in the little church of St Olaf that humbly sits in the valley. This tiny church is very beautiful and peaceful and reminds me of a similar church (St Mary's) tucked into the South Downs near Bepton. I remember sitting there in complete silence other than the occasional scrapping noise of the church mouse. The peace found in this environment penetrates so deeply into the soul it resonates for a long time after leaving its safekeeping.
The silence of St Olaf's, was also very quiet, except the wind moaning outside. The peace inside was in juxtaposition to the wild character of the valley outside the church. However, the two combined - the wild, untamed nature of the valleyand the peace of Gods house created a deep sense of peace and a feeling of well being.
Winter above Wasdale
It was a grey, overcast day and according to the weather forecast, there was little prospect of any sun to brighten the day. However, at least it appeared to be a still day as there was little wind, or so I thought.
My plan was, as usual, scant. I did intend to visit Wasdale as I was to meet a friend, nearby, later that day. However, what mountain I would climb, what route, how far I intended to walk were all unknown. I would decide on my drive to Wasdale and refine the plan based on local conditions.
Wasdale was very quiet, symbolised by only 4 cars parked at the valley head. With so few other folk about the wild character of valley is more easily understood. As I looked up to the precipitous crags of White Napes, surrounded by a sea of scree and boulders and with its famous Napes Needle just visible, I thought this must have been how the valley was 50 years ago. No extraneous noise of cars or marching walkers, just the wind blowing down the valley and the occasional baying sheep. I love Wasdale when it is like this and from my very first visit, I have always relished in the wildness and the severe mountain architecture of the valley.
The steep sided mountains present a seeminly impenetrable wall, giving the valley a fierce, rugged demeanour. These iconic mountains do not so much invite, but challenge and with the obvious remnants of winter clinging to the crags and dark, cold buttresses, this was a challenge not to be taken lightly.
However, as I still had not formed a plan in my mind as to what I would climb, I found myself ascending the slopes of the mighty Great Gable without my winter climbing gear. As I ascended the conditions changed radically and winter was firmly in control once I reached the hause (Beck Head) between Kirkfell and Great Gable.
The views here are some of the best you can get in the District. I looked down into the lonely, untamed Ennerdale and over to the Buttermere Fells. I was surrounded by steep sided slopes of crags and scree and had intimate views of England's highest, covered in snow and penetrated by deep Ghylls and ravines.
Therefore, I knew I had to now make good decisions as the conditions were likely to get worse higher I climbed, plus I was now exposed to a strong wind that was producing face piercing spindrift.
A quick coffee and a look at the map, I felt that Kirk Fell was the better choice. I could see that the main ridge was mostly free of snow and the map (and my previous visits) informed me that the summit was broad and held few rocky problems. How wrong I was.
On reaching the summit plateau I was now standing in a world encased in concrete hard snow. However hard I kicked into the snow, I made no impression. The slightest inclines had now become treacherous and the seemingly gentle slope to the summit was now an incline that would produce an uncontrollable slip. I therefore had no choice but to retreat. My lack of planning meant I didn't have the gear to safely proceed and especially not safely descend the far north eastern slope, as it would likely hold even harder winter conditions and the ground was steep.
The irony of all this was I had all my kit stored in the back of my car, but my general lack of planning and lack of desire to carry more than I had to had led me to this point. I was frustrated as I (probably irrationally) hate not getting to the summit, but I knew to carry on was full of risk. No, my best plan was to head back the way I came as I knew the ground was passable.
As I descended the weather worsened, with the wind increasing in strength and sleet and snow now blowing up the valley. My choice was not only the best decision, but also timely.
On my return, I sat in the little church of St Olaf that humbly sits in the valley. This tiny church is very beautiful and peaceful and reminds me of a similar church (St Mary's) tucked into the South Downs near Bepton. I remember sitting there in complete silence other than the occasional scrapping noise of the church mouse. The peace found in this environment penetrates so deeply into the soul it resonates for a long time after leaving its safekeeping.
The silence of St Olaf's, was also very quiet, except the wind moaning outside. The peace inside was in juxtaposition to the wild character of the valley outside the church. However, the two combined - the wild, untamed nature of the valleyand the peace of Gods house created a deep sense of peace and a feeling of well being.