RUFTY TUFTY TENTY NIGHT: Part One

This time last week, in the black darkness of a Cumbrian night, Shirl & I were parked up on the side of Scafell Pike with a grandstand view of the Wasdale Mountain Rescue Team helping some poor soul off the side of Great Gable by torchlight. It seemed to be a lengthy process. Behind us lights were slowly descending from Scafell. We seemed to be at a busy spot.

The day had started the night before in the Langstrath Inn in Stonethwaite with a wonderful time spent sampling their real ales and fine bar meals and some cracking company (Simon & Cassie, who I am sure we will all be bumping into again). A short stroll down the road on the way to Rosthwaite to buy some essential smoking supplies had us bumping into a wonderful lady with a small black spaniel who headed us off at the pass by donating enough smokes to allay the cravings to get the girl through the night! We planned to pass by Rosthwaite the next morning to replenish the wonderfully kind local stranger's generosity.

So, with fresh smokes it was back to the Inn to meet up with Simon & Cassie again. Whilst Shirl was at the bar, the wonderful smokes benefactor appeared once more with another box of supplies for Shirl, just in case those already supplied ran out!

Stonethwaite: What a wonderful spot - a great Inn and wonderful villagers.

To be fair, Saturday morning was a bit of a struggle but after a gentle morning admiring fellow camper Bill's ultralight approach (Shirl will deal with the kit side of things; gear monster that she is...) we struggled our way down the track to the Langstrath Inn once more for a spot of exquisite lunch and some essential rehydration with a couple of beers that hadn't been sampled the previous night.

It was warm with dappled sunshine on our shoulders and there seemed no need for any unnecessary hurrying and so we strolled off once more in the direction of Rosthwaite letting Piglet off the leash to tear about the bank of Stonethwaite Beck with occasional plunges into the water. An amazing little pup.

After a second stab at rehydration at the Scafell Hotel, we finally hoisted the packs to set off up Borrowdale. It was still a cracking afternoon and so we slipped over the bridge over the Derwent to stroll through the soft coolness of the trees and little rocky knolls to head up to Seatoller.

Nipping up the valley we chanced upon the cafe at Seathwaite - well - it would have been rude not to stop - just before they were to close for the day. A good filter coffee and then a whole smoked trout to add to my already colossal food bag. There was a bit of an event going on in the old campsite but we were tickled to see chalked on the blackboard "10:30, Workshop Space 5: A short History of Anarchism."

I am sure all Anarchists believe that it's imperative to understand the history.

Well, as you can gather, time was moving on and it was still warm and sunshine was sloshing about all over the shop and we finally set off up to Stockley Bridge at twenty to seven. This is the way to do it! None of this tear-arsing stuff here. Oh no! This was a classic Daunder. The girl had taken to it like a duck to water...