When I was young and full of rage
I hated Tottenham to the core
But now I've reached a gentler age
I hate the fùckers even more.
Hallin Fell, The Knott, Grey Crag, High Street. New favourite area, the Ullswater valley. Slightly less visited even in season, as well. Totes amazeballs.
I don't know Rennes-le-château, but I do love it around Carcassonne where the fortified hill villages tell a story of the Cathar troubles.
I went to Carcassone and somehow failed to find the old town. I must have had the little map upside down or something, but I was very young and my navigation skillz were not well developed. I met some local chap who insisted I buy him a drink because of all the English students coming over there and taking their grape-picking jobs during the summer. I explained, through the cloud of guilt that he had cast over me, that I was neither a student nor taking anyone's jerb as we went to a bar, where I bought him a beer, and nothing for myself. "Why are you not having one?" he asked. "Because you are drinking my beer budget for the next three days. I have very little money." Guilt reversal completed.
I had a photo looking across Ullswater towards Patterdale as my desktop beckground for years. We were coming back around the lake, possibly down from Place Fell, came round Silver Bay and there was this stunning view.
The far Eastern fells can be very quiet, as you say. Did a ridge route in terrible weather over Loadpot Hill, Wether Hill, High Raise, Ramsgill Head, possibly a detour to The Knott and back to Haweswater via Kidsty Pike. Fog was so bad I had to navigate via the contours on the map, which I'd never done before until we met the only other couple we saw up there that day, who were doing that. Except they had laminated maps and I didn't. Always get laminated maps, I learned that day.
Then Ms A slipped and fell on the wet stones on Kidsty Pike and I thought at first from her reaction that she'd broken her leg, in the rain and fog with no-one to send for help. Fortunately, she was Ok and we managed to hobble down the mountain. Getting below the clouds to see Haweswater and the right valley was such a relief. When we did get down there was another six miles around the reservoir to the road and then a couple more back to the Inn. It was good to see the Inn. I think that night we ended up drinking with a couple of rough-as-fùck West Cumbrian lads who were working at a nearby slate mine, and this was there night off to get hammered. Managed to get out of that situation in one piece too. A wierd day.
Next time we went up, we stayed in Eskdale and only did valley walks. I though we might never go up on the tops again.
Gracious me, quite the adventure. V follows the various mountain rescue squads on Twitter, and their descriptions of the troubles people get into are quite sobering. Uphill only in blue skies for me.
We bought one of those maps where you can tick off the wainwrights you've bagged. It seems that we have some 190 still to do. At 10 a year, I'll be trying to trudge up the last one when I'm 71 -(