Day 5: Patterdale to Shap, 17 miles (Gordon’s Version)

Photos

We awoke from our slumber at Greenbank farm aware that the nice 8 miles days of the past 48 hours were gone, replaced instead with a seventeen miler followed by a twenty-one miler. Oh well…. Our day began with myself popping a couple of advil for the ole bum knee and then climbing up one of the steepest ascents of the trip. The weather was quite cool in the morning, which was nice as we wouldn’t have wanted our sweat to soak through our bags too early in the day. Up, up, up the road we went until finally we stoped going up and instead (and more wisely as well) the trail decided to go around the big hills instead of over them. Waiting for us around each bend were spectacular views down into several valleys, with the glistening valley lakes hazily visible through light fog. Then around one corner we came to a little bit of heave in the shape of Angle Tarn (tarn=lake), a mountain top lake surrounded by grazing sheep and with a tent pitched right in the middle of the tarn on a little peninsula. The view was absolutely wonderful and scenic and I talked Lisa into enjoying it for awhile (my excuse for catching my breath). After a too brief repose, we headed off, following the trail around the Angle tarn and acrosse the saddle of the mountains, losing our way only briefly, before regaining the trail and heading up to our highest peak of the trip, Kidsty Pike at 2560 feet. The ascent up was not much to speak of as after the initial ascent our of Patterdale, we were already at a significant altitude. The view was….how shall I say….remarkably insufficient. The problem being that we the fog was covering the peak and only faint glimpse of the beyond could be gathered. Oh, well. We still felt good about our last large summit and headed down with our Californian friends. Downhill was always the worst part for Lisa and I. My knee always started hurting and it just wasn’t a pleasant experience trying to stop your body and a twenty pound pack from the desire of gravity. But this was our last descent for the day and we cautiously made our way down to the lake of Haweswater which we skirted around for 4 miles before emerging on the other side, out of the Lakes District and into the English country side. We walked for a few more miles, turning back every so ofter in the realization that at this point we were very happy to be away from all the climbing and descending, but also knowing we’d be missing those misty mornings. Just when all seem quite nice and less treacherous as we ambled through open pastures and fields we came through the path of some innocent looking cows. In most circumstances, cows are quite fearful of humans. They are big and meaty, and look dangerous, but most are quite docile. However, we caught this group of mothers with their babies in tow—and there is nothing more dangerous than a wild animal protecting the progeny. We walked into the field and got a funny feeling when the dead-eye stares began and the moos filled our ears. We were halfway through the field and thought we were doing well, when Lisa saw out of the corner of her eye udders jiggling and bouncing as a momma cow made her way a little too quickly toward. “Don’t look her in the eye!” I screamed back as our paced quickened to something short of a run. We stopped on the other edge of the field, hearts pounding and I crossed over the stile into a small river area where I expected Lisa to join me quite soon. Much to my chagrin, the only words I heard were “Gordon, can I see your camera? This cow has such a nice color.” I told her yes, but only if she came to the other side of the fence. She didn’t listen, so I gave here the camera, she took a coupld pictures, and we survived. We toured the Shap Abbey and then pounded our feet on the tarmac for another miles before arriving at New Ing Farm in Shap. A house where horses were used in the front lawn in lieu of lawn mowers. We showered, at some pub food, came back home and watched a little World Cup before falling asleep to nightmares of bovine madness.