“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.”
― John Muir
I finally headed to the hills after three days in the hut. At last I felt that the bump on the head was sufficiently recovered to make a trip up high a sensible idea. So with an early (ish) start on a beautiful day I was off,
Lingmoor Fell tends to be overlooked in favour of other peeks but I had found the gate accessing the path yesterday and I was curious to see where it led. There was a swimmer in the pool above Slaters Bridge as I passed; an unusual sight at that time of the day. It has to be said that Lingmoor is not the most enthralling of fells but in the early sunshine it made a great start to the day.
Down to Blea Tarn and on to Pike O’Blisco. Apart from the coach parties around the tarn I saw one person only until the summit. Most people there seemed to have come up either on the Great Langdale or the Wrynose paths. From here back to the Band it was a veritable motorway of people enjoying the good weather. Took the route over Crinkle Crags with an idea to tackle the Bad Step but on reaching it, with a party trying to come down through the hole I headed into the wind and round the path side. Either that or what appeared to be a long wait. Next time. Over to the three tarns then down by the band to the ODG for a swift half before heading back over Blea Tarn to the Tibberthwaite path to top of High Hall Garth.
The canine count had been quite low up to this point but thankfully the four pawed companions became more evident as the afternoon progressed. It was sad that the Hollydog was still recouperating from her op as she would have loved all this clambering about. All the while, my grin was getting wider and wider until I was in danger of disappearing into it, just like the Cheshire Cat. Why the cheesy grin? I was in the hills. That’s all it takes; I’m a girl of simple needs.
A week later it was back, this time in the Yorkshire Dales on the Three Peaks. Even in the fog on the summit of Pen-Y-Ghent I couldn’t stop smiling (even when the resident ewe showed a curious interest in my sarnie. (Is that reverse sheep worrying?) It felt more of an achievement on the top of Ingleborough by which time the clouds had cleared and the view clear to the coast and beyond. The feeling of elation needs to be bottled.
Or I need to be in the hills more often.