A day of good and bad bits (River Sprint 3)

8:15 am - I am driving daughter’s colleague to school ( a favour), up a country lane. The builder’s wagon in front starts turning right, then stops. A car following is now right behind. The wagon reverses. My hand on the horn gets no result. I just sit and watch the front of my Skoda Yeti get crunched.

A good bit:  Feeling sorry for myself I reckon I deserve breakfast at the Artisan - a high class eater at Booth’s supermarket in Kendal ( the local equivalent of Waitrose). 

Five miles down the single track road in Long Sleddale, Tarmac ends and  a rough track ascends to Gatesgarth Pass: departure for my final exploration of the River Sprint.

Strangely there are more cars than normal; several have driven well up, despite the rugged surface. Farmers with flat tweed caps, shiny with age, moulded to their heads and wearing well worn tweed suits with waistcoats, despite the sunshine, are leaning against the wall with binoculars and hob-nobbing. Many of the cars display cb aerials, and dogs abound.

I know about hunting; my father was secretary of the Airedale Beagles for twenty five years.

At NY 480 073 where the track steepens I descend from track to river and photograph the tumbling, waterfally river with  blue skies, and rowan and holly trees sporting red berries.

Higher up I recross the track to the east and climb, strenuously over rough, pathless terrain to the summit of Tarn Crag. Something tells me I shouldn’t be doing this with the recovering knee. 

Inexplicably (perhaps wishfully reverting to junior-hard mode), I decide to descend via a ravine, and out onto suicidal steep grass skirting the southern edge of Buckbarrow Crag.

The knee is protesting. I am bemused at my folly for engineering this situation. I have never used the bum-sliding technique before on steep grass (too amateurish and unmanly), but find it effective for eliminating knee stress, and furthermore it is jolly good fun.

Back at the Gatesgarth track thoughts turn to car and a hot bath. Feeling for the keys in my back pocket I know immediately what has happened: I have paid the price for that joyous bum-sliding.

There is no mobile signal. Back at the car the Ullswater Hounds fraternity are preparing for departure. I hardly subscribe to their activities but decide now is the time to abandon principles and play the, “My father was secretary of the Airedale Beagles...” card.

One of the “followers” lives in Arnside and I get a lift in a car rancid with the smell of three border terriers. Daughter, spare keys from home, and a lift back to the car combine to complete the day.

I find myself, at last in the hot bath glugging a large, strong gin and tonic. Crumbs! I hope I’m not pregnant.

The start of the track is to the right of this bridge

Looking up Long Sleddale to Gatesgarth Pass. Red dots mark my descent route

"Followers" cars well up the track. Red dots show my descent route again - it was much steeper than it looks 

Long zoom back down the dale showing jumble of cars. I didn't dare photograph the farmer "followers" in case they thought I was an undercover hunt saboteur gathering evidence. I reckon they are just carrying on as before now after the hunt ban legislation

The track up to Gatesgarth can be seen, top right, and the point where I turned off up the righthand skyline ridge

Tarn Crag summit*, Windermere apparent

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*Extract from Wikipedia:This is one of four such pillars built during the construction of the Haweswater aqueduct. Below Branstree and Tarn Crag is the first section of the pipeline carrying water from the reservoir toward Manchester. The tunnel, some 1,300 ft below the summit, required 250 tons of gelignite for blasting, and when constructed in the 1930s was the longest such pipeline in Britain. It emerges into Longsleddale below Great Howe, where the spoil can still be seen.^[1]

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