Once in a Lifetime? The SILVA Lakes Traverse.
Shap, 4am Sunday morning. I am cocooned in a sleeping bag, uncomfortably wedged in the back of a car, which is slightly too short to stretch out in, as Storm Kathleen’s rain and wind combine to drum out a rhythm on the roof that brings a favourite song by Talking Heads to mind…”And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?””…
Back in 2021 Sue and I had had a large amount of fun preparing for, and undertaking, our first, and to date only, 50 mile outing that took us North to South across The Lakes in a Day. It had never been intendended as a one-off but somehow a couple of years of unintentional ultra avoidance had crept by so with the memories of that October escapade fading we felt the need for another long, fun-filled outing in the Lake District. The search for something suitable did not take long; the fine folk at Ourea events offered the opportunity for a Lakes Traverse. Following the Coast to Coast path from the sea at St Bees through the heart of the fells to finish 100 kilometres away at Shap on the Eastern edge of the Lake District, it provided an aesthetically pleasing counterpoint to the North-South journey of Lakes in a Day.
With an objective secured, focused training commenced just before Christmas. Getting the required hilly off-road miles in during the wettest of winter months provided a test of resolve and the washing machine. We both became more adept at mud larking across and through the many different forms of Wiltshire mud, from cloying clay to liquid cow gloup. The occasional trip away, including a few jaunts along the latter parts of the Lakes Traverse route, provided much the same conditions underfoot, just in a different setting. A belated investment in waterproof socks (Dexshell for me, Seal Skins for Sue) improved morale and, along with misappropriation of our dogs’ paw protection balm (Musher’s Secret), kept trench foot at bay.
April found Sue and me in good fettle and full of enthusiasm for the Lakes Traverse. The weather forecast for the weekend provided a bit of a dampner though; our outing would be in the company of Storm Kathleen. On the plus side the prevailing wind direction would generally be from behind us and the temperature was not too cold; warmish moisture from the tropical South was preferable to cold moisture from the polar North. I also had a well of previous poor weather experience to draw upon; not least a testing outing around Vale of Eywas in the Black Mountains with Andrew Wood in February 2020 when Storm Dennis struck and the still “fresh in the mind” horror of the “howling Howgills” Karrimor International Mountain Marathon of 1998.
Eager to be off
Saturday morning saw bleary eyed but eager participants gathering at St Bees school to register, collect trackers and undertake a thorough check of mandatory equipment, including additional items of warm/waterproof clothing because of the adverse weather forecast. The Details of a potential diversion, should it be required to avoid exposure to Storm Kathleen’s wet, windchilled wrath on exposed ground in the dark final miles of the route, were also shared. Thankfully the heavy overnight rain had stopped and as we walked from the school to the start on St Bees seafront it was only Kathleen’s very boisterous breeze that greeted us. Ourea’s slick organisation did not keep us loitering for long and at 7:30am precisely we started our journey East.
Stage 1 St Bees to Ennerdale Bridge (Distance from start: 24km; Height gain since start: 482m) – “And you may say to yourself, “My God, what have I done?”
Leaving St Bees
Congestion at a narrow bridge crossing immediately after the start and steep climb up to the top of the cliffs north of St Bees kept early enthusiasm in check and ensured a beneficially slow beginning to the day. With the stiff breeze from astern, no rain (yet), fantastic coastal views and nothing to think about other than putting one foot in front of the other and going the right way on unfamiliar trails there was much to enjoy as the distant Lake District fells started to peak over the horizon. Muddy winter training miles and waterproof socks were soon paying dividends as we turned away from the coast and headed inland over muddy waterlogged lowland fields intersped with tarmac trotting. Grand encouragement from the Ourea volunteers sped us towards the first checkpoint at Ennerdale Bridge. The Lakes Traverse is run in conjunction with the Northern Traverse, which tackles the 300km Coast to Coast trail in one go. Starting an hour after us from St Bees, the lead runners of The Northern Traverse made short shrift of the deficit as they comfortably cruised past on the downhill run to the checkpoint. After a quick water bottle refill in the village, it was onto the next leg and more familiar Lake District terrain.
Stage 2 Ennerdale Bridge to Borrowdale (Distance from start: 47km; Distance from Ennerdale Bridge: 23km; Height gain since Ennerdale Bridge: 525m) – “And you may ask yourself, “How do I work this?””
Heading Inland to The Lakes
Having successfully navigated the unfamiliar on Stage 1 without expending too much energy, Stage 2 held no surprises and nicely split into three distinct sections; first along more technical, uneven ground overlooking the beautiful Ennerdale Water; then on good but gently climbing forest track to Black Sail Youth Hostel and the head of the Ennerdale, before the first big climb of the day to get over into the Borrowdale valley & the heart of the Lake District.
(Wild) Ennerdale is the site of a vast ecological restoration project. Since 2016, an on-going partnership between the National Trust, the Forestry Commission and United Utilities has sought “to allow the evolution of Ennerdale as a wild valley for the benefit of people, relying more on natural processes to shape its landscape and ecology” (Wild Ennerdale, 2016). Unlike the majority of other valleys in the Lakes, Ennerdale is not a mosaic of farms and walled fields for grazing/silage but a mix of commercial pine forestry, which is gradually being felled, and native woodland and scrub. Wild Ennerdale is being shaped by small herds of black Galloway cattle (“now’t but guts ‘n’ arse” as a Lake District farmer once memorably described them to me) rather than the intensive grazing of sheep, synonymous with the fells elsewhere but which creates a dominant and dense compact sward consisting of just a few grass types.
The rich, diverse valley landscape and high, craggy peaks provided grand fodder for the eyes as we progressed up the valley well sheltered from Storm Kathleen’s attentions. Unfortunately more mundane matters, indigestion & lack of appetite, were causing distraction. So, following the sage advice given by a member of the event safety team during my kit check at registration earlier in the day, namely: “if you think you need to do something, don’t put it off; stop and do it”, I stopped, sorted it and reached Black Sail in a much happier frame of mind, buoyed by fond memories of a fantastic family overnight stay at the hostel “with more atmosphere per square inch than any other in England and Wales”.
Ennerdale Water
Black Sail’s simplicity and remoteness harks back to a time when Youth Hostels’ cheap and spartan fare had, according to G.M.Trevelyan, the historian, Cambridge professor and YHA’s first president, “drawn out the right type of young men and women who take their holidays strenuously and joyously, without slacking or rioting, hard walkers or active bicyclists.”
Black Sail Youth Hostel, Ennerdale
So without thought of slacking (or rioting), I pressed on joyously and strenuously up the steep climb out of Wild Ennerdale valley. Here Storm Kathleen started to make her presence felt as gusts, funnelled by the appropriately named Windy Gap, occasionally halted forward progress and tested balance. But the moment soon passed and speed picked up as gravity assisted on the long, gentle descent over good running ground down past the crowds at Honnister slate mine and on to the support point at Rosthwaite, Borrowdale, where the fare was thankfully far from spartan. Familiar faces from previous Ourea events offered welcome encouragement and support as I dwelt a moment to snaffle pizza slices and slurp a welcome brew.
Stage 2 Borrowdale to Patterdale (Distance from start: 69km; Distance from Borrowdale: 22km; Height gain since Borrowdale: 1,015m) – “And you may ask yourself, “Where does that highway go to?””
Leaving the comforts of the support point was not made any easier by the wind blasting down the valley bottom and right into our faces, checking forward momentum on the strongest gusts. However, the incentive to try and get over two testing climbs and reach Patterdale before darkness fell provided the necessary impetus to crack on.
Looking from Greenup Edge back down to Borrowdale
The section of the Coast to Coast path from Borrowdale up to, and over, Greenup Edge down to Easedale had on previous encounters provided boggy going and required close navigation. Fortune was on our side though, Sue had on her reccie of this section at Christmas seen signs of path improvement work being undertaken to upgrade Wainwright’s Coast to Coast to a National Trail. This had clearly progressed at pace, with a highway of stone slabs now crossing the mires of Greenup Edge to speed progress down, out of the wind and on to Grasmere. Easedale provided beautiful going in the early evening and in no time at all Grasmere, about which William Wordsworth gushed “the loveliest spot that man hath ever found” was in the rear view mirror. Mentally this marked a significant point; the home of Sue’s mother in Ambleside, and steak, chips and a glass of red wine, lay only a brief and tempting bus ride away but were resisted.
Grisedale Tarn (part) – Faber, Rev. Frederick William (1840).
“These, with the storms and calms, mayhap
Enough of sight and sound would make
For one in mountain nature’s lap,
A dweller by her loneliest lake;
While banners bright of kindled mist
Above his head might hang and twist.”
Next up was the long but steady climb from Grasmere to Grisedale Tarn, as legend would have it the resting place of the crown of the kingdom of Cumbria, having been conveyed there in 945 by soldiers of the last Cumbrian king, Dunmail, after he was slain in battle with the combined forces of the English and Scottish kings. By this juncture of proceedings I was much more likely to scoop Cumbria’s ancient crown from the water of the tarn than get a Strava crown for my speed of ascent. Nevertheless impending darkness and worsening weather encouraged forward progress and Grisedale Tarn eventually hove into view through the evening’s “kindled mist”. On previous visits, the dark tarn had often felt austere and malevolent, and today was no different. Storm Kathleen force was building and rain was in the air, augmented by the gale force wind whipping up spray from the tarn; it was not a time or place to linger, and it was quickly on down towards Patterdale, food and shelter, although the initial section of steep, wet and slippy rocks necessitated a steady approach.
A reminder to pay close attention to, and keep on top of, personal care in the hills, especially as tiredness and darkness were looming, was provided just after the tarn. I passed a fellow participant who was starting to shiver with cold (well I assumed the cause was the dropping temperature rather than my banter). By this stage I was in two thermal layers, a waterproof top, hat and gloves. When I gently suggested they put some warmer clothing on (there’s a good reason the event has a comprehensive mandatory kit list!), their cold gloveless hands were unable to open the zip on their rucksack. Having had a similar experience in the past, I carry a buff and a pair of gloves in the pocket of my waterproof coat as I generally find that when the weather is poor enough to put on a waterproof my hands and head are also cold; also trying to get snug fitting gloves over cold wet fingers is a fun party game but no so great in-extremis up a mountain, and I now carry oversized mittens instead of small gloves. With a bit of assistance, they were soon sorted and we continued on our way down to easier going along the bottom of Grisedale valley. Our arrival at the support point coincided with the arrival of darkness and heavier, more consistent rain but it was a relief to have completed three quarters of the route without getting soaked or needing to use a torch. My thoughts were however, very much with Sue who would be tackling the Grisedale Tarn section in the dark, wind and rain.
The warm welcome of the volunteers and a free “proper” coffee courtesy of event sponsors Silva, were a godsend. A dinner of chips, burrito and Complan hot chocolate, further improved morale ahead of heading out into the night and the attentions of Storm Kathleen. The support point team confirmed that we would be taking the alternative route to the finish at Shap, and thereby avoiding the Kidsty Pike, the highest point on the route and fully exposed to the storm’s 50-70mph winds. Ironically it was the only section I had specifically checked out before the event as I had never been on the path down from Kidsty Pike, along the shore of Haweswater and on to Shap. Other than the initial climb to Boredale Hause and the last few miles to Shap, the final section would therefore provide a navigational adventure into the unknown for me and the majority of the participants. Thankfully the knowledge and experience I had accrued over past few years during Mountain Leader training and assessment, where the night navigation elements had also been undertaken in howling winds and driving rain, gave me confidence to trust my judgement (and good quality Gortex waterproofs). I would also have welcome company; the runner I had joined from Grisedale to Patterdale had sensibly organised a small group to head out together into the maelstrom and provide safety in numbers.
Stage 3 (of 3) Patterdale to Shap (Distance from start: 94.4km; Distance from Patterdale: 26km; Height gain since Patterdale: 924m) – “And you may ask yourself, “Am I right, am I wrong?””
Fortuitously, a bit of well judged clothing faff on my part meant that we left the dry confines of the support point marquee just as the heavy rain ceased. Shortly after, at the start of climb up to Boredale Hause our group increased by a further two runners, attracted I guess by our cheery demeanour, confidence and all round snappy dressing.
Powered by group dynamics and the pause at Patterdale, we were soon on Boredale Hause where, as wikipedia helpfully notes, “there is a large confusion of paths”. Given that, and that from this point on we were on the alternative route, I took a moment to check my map and compass to ensure the correct direction of travel was taken down towards the shore of Ullswater and the small hamlet of Howtown. Shortly after, I dented any confidence the others had built in my competence by having to troop back to retrieve one of my poles, which I had dropped whilst juggling the map and compass. Boredale valley was thankfully well sheltered from the storm and a decent, albeit wet and muddy, track followed by a stretch of road led us without too much trouble to Howtown. In navigating to the start of the gentle traversing climb from Howtown to Askham Moor our merry band increased to seven as we picked up a couple of runners who were enjoying a moment of indecision on the dark, featureless fellside. Along the descent I had observed that gpx route for the alternative route provided by Ourea that I was following on my watch and phone, did not always lie right on the top of the actual paths, tracks and roads on the ground, and was displaced slightly off to the right or left. As we gained in height, Storm Kathleen began to reassert its presence on the exposed plateau of Askham Moor, especially when we changed direction, first east, then north. The head-on battle into wind and rain, whilst “refreshing”, did not make for easy lingering or conversation to check or determine the route within the group of seven runners. At a point where the gpx track appeared to head off a well defined track and cut a corner across open moor, I decided to take a slightly longer but navigationally less risky alternative and stay on the track. Clearly the dropped pole incident had sowed a seed of doubt in the group about my ability and I subsequently found myself venturing forth alone whilst the lights of the rest of the group wobbled across the moor following the gpx track.
Thankfully the “Am I right, am I wrong?” concerns in my head were quickly allayed, as I was soon back on the gpx track and caught up by everyone else on the corner cutting “shortcut” as we left the open moor for enclosed farmland. Reunited, we were soon heading on reassuring tarmac heading towards Bampton, which I was very excited to reach. Now slightly sheltered as well from Storm Kathleen ongoing turbulence and heavy rain, the end was in reach, with just a few miles away over ground that I had run once before, albeit in daylight. The section of Askham Moor, on reflection, provided the most satisfying parts of the Lakes Traverse; cocooned from the elements and warm enough, confident in my navigation and relishing the simple, single focus of efficiently maintaining forward progress towards the finish, whilst weary and in challenging terrain and conditions, was richly rewarding.
Anyway back to the excitement / distraction of Bampton, which would not have been visited if the planned Cost to Coast route over Kidsty Pike had been followed. The beauty of happenstance and falling into company with runners on the trail is finding out things you would have otherwise not known. On this occasion it was the revelation that Bampton was the location for a scene from one of my favourite films, Withnail & I. Others in the group, it has to be said, did not share my enthusiasm for the film or the Bampton phone box that features in it; they were rightly more focused on getting to the finish. So I was soon left alone to enjoy the moment and take some pictures by which to remember it by. I then fell even further behind when I had to return to the phonebox and pick up a mitten I had dropped whilst taking pictures of it. Nevertheless I soon was back with the group as they paused at a road junction to check the way, and we continued on together towards the finish and the glittering lights of Shap concrete works.
“The Withnail and I” Phonebox, Bampton
Whilst short, the final section into Shap had required some close navigation on my daylight reccie to find the correct route across an undulating maze of fields. I therefore doubled-down my focus on navigation and sought to identify the most likely points for navigational blundering in the dark. The first was shortly after leaving the assurity of a tarmac road via a short climb on a farm track. I remembered that this track had to be left at some point, which was useful, but not exactly where, which was not so good. Thankfully it came back to me as I bumped into a small huddle of runners from the group who had got a couple of hundred metres ahead on the preceding tarmac and were now pondering which way to go. They were rightly reluctant to follow as I turned off the track and slithered down a steep slope. Just at the moment I was starting to doubt my decision and navigation, a familiar looking stile appeared and I was saved having to struggle back up the slope. It was an important turn as it led to the only bridge crossing the Swinedale Beck, which blocked the way to Shap and was, thanks to Storm Kathleen, a seething mass of fast moving water that even the sportiest of ducks would avoid. Crossing the architectural gem of bridge with gratitude to those who had built it, I applied myself again to frequent checks of the map to jog my memory on navigational markers. Passing an abandoned farmstead I remembered that the route left the reassuring obviousness of a good track, this time to cross rough and marshy ground. Memory jogged, I headed off-piste into the boggy blackness. The group were initially reluctant to leave terra-firma & follow but I pressed on, expressing my pleasure in finding the right way and relief that the bog was much less extensive and moist than I remembered it. From there it was a simple job of following the correct lines across a few fields to reach a second bridge, this time crossing the nascent but Storm Kathleen engorged River Lowther; the last obstacle between us and the finish. Some folk took a brief detour to visit Shap Abbey; a grand place to visit in daylight but less so on a dark stormy night when you have already had the huge delight of visiting a location from one of your favourite films and at the end of a long day out. As we returned to tarmac the group found their own pace and spread out. This provided a super opportunity to reflect on, and enjoy, the privilege of being able to undertake a tremendous journey across the Lakes from the now distant St Bees. I was having difficulty trying to capture how I felt at this point; thankfully the ever-inspirational Aussie adventurer, Beau Miles (check out his excellent local adventuring films here) nailed it for me when he was talking about running a long way through a beautiful landscape:
“It’s not work or even leisure; it’s the meaning of having a heart.”
In the small hours of Sunday morning some 19 hours after starting, a very warm welcome from the ever-fabulous event volunteers, food and a finisher’s medal marked the end of the journey across the Lakes for me. Sue, however, was still out there in the midst of a storm ravaged night. The open tracking system used by Ourea events allowed me to quickly establish where she was and calculate a rough time of arrival in Shap. I could do little to help by watching her dot on a screen so having letting her know I had finished and wishing her godspeed, I attempted to get some sleep in the back of our car; and that is how ended up being reminded of “Once in a Lifetime” by Talking Heads and its wonderful, watery lyrics at 4am in Shap.
As I was crammed, but warm and dry, in the back of the car, Sue was venturing from the final checkpoint at Patterdale at around 1am to tackle the remaining sixteen miles on her own with Storm Kathleen at its wettest and windiest peak. The going for Sue would be much more difficult as well: the bogs would be much boggier; streams that I barely noticed now torrents; and the night much darker and wilder. Having donned multiple layers of warmer clothing at the checkpoint, enjoyed the complementary barista coffee from Silva, and once again silently swore at me for advising that she wouldn’t need her new, heavy duty waterproof jacket, Sue committed to finishing the Traverse and further testing her perseverance and resilience.
Sue’s recollections of the final section are fairly limited. Suffice to say the relentless heavy rain and the need to keep on top of navigation over unfamiliar ground without a paper map or an accurate gpx track to follow did not make for an enjoyable, pleasant nighttime saunter; occasional periods of company with fellow participants and the slow transition from wet and windy darkness to wet and windy greyness did however provide a little respite. As I tucked into an early breakfast having given up on trying to sleep, it was a relief to see, on the event’s tracking page, Sue’s dot move off the high ground of Askham Moor. Whilst her progress had understandably slowed after nearly 24 hours on the go in dreich conditions, she was still moving relentlessly forward to Shap, it was daylight and she was now off the route diversion and on ground she had at least visited once before…
Unfortunately when I next checked Sue’s tracking dot it had stalled and she was off route having failed to locate the only bridge crossing the now raging Swinedale Beck. It is not unusual for competitors tracking dots to freeze / not move for periods of time so I was not unduly concerned initially. However, Sue was struggling with tiredness, a phone out of charge and the relentless heavy rain that had permeated her second best waterproof and was slowly soaking through her layers of warm clothing. So whilst she knew she was not on the right route, she was taking a long time to locate herself and work out where she needed to go. With her dot loitering next to Swinedale Beck about 1km upstream of the bridge for an extended period of time, it appeared to my foggy brain that she might be considering fording the beck and I was concerned enough to phone her. I was not alone; Race HQ, who keep a close watch on participants’ tracks, were also trying to contact her. But with Sue’s phone out of action, we both failed. Eventually Sue’s dot started slowly to move back away from the beck and in the right direction towards the bridge; panic over, I eagerly looked forward to her safe arrival in Shap and completion of the Lakes Traverse. 26 hours and 100km after I last saw her in St Bees, it was fantastic to see and applaud Sue approaching the finish wearily but with her usual beaming smile. She crossed the line as the 106th and final finisher of the 2024 Lake Traverse; testament to her stamina, competence and determination given that over thirty of our fellow starters as St Bees did not get to Shap.
And you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?”
As soon as Sue sat down in the village hall, she started to shiver. Thankfully the brilliant volunteers were quick to spot it and gently suggested she change into warm, dry clothes straight away, which she did. When she returned and handed me her kit it was evident that every item was wet; if only she’d had a new robust, Gortex mountain jacket (just like the one she had left in St Bees on my advice)…
The Lakes Traverse 2024 and Storm Kathleen provided Sue and I with a richly rewarding “Once in a Lifetime” experience, and one from which we take ongoing inspiration and satisfaction. Huge thanks go to Ourea and their ace volunteers who enabled and supported our journey and safety with exemplary diligence, enthusiasm and humour.
