The New Year trip this year was to Eskdale. Nothing new there, then.
The first wave arrived on Thursday afternoon and early evening; our esteemed President, plus sidekick, surprised everyone by setting off immediately for some night-navigation practice - expecting some late descents, Sarah? After a couple of hours of rain, it was much less of a surprise to see the same two figures return and drip all over the bunkhouse.
For the mortals (or the sane[*]) among us, the walking began on Friday. The weather forecast was poor, so Pete, Margaret and I went to the low hills just south of Ennerdale Water, where we enjoyed a day mostly below the clouds in comparatively mild conditions. Or, if you believe the general opinion, we "bagged lots of obscure lumps."
[*] If anyone who goes to Eskdale in January can be considered sane...
Andy Seagren demonstrated his mastery of the traditional art of festering - by the time we returned, he'd not even been out as far as the pub!
Apart from Jane & Tim who returned after a day on Harter Fell, everyone else had been to Wasdale. Dave and company were on Scafell Pike, while Pete Johnson's group of "two nutters from the club (who will remain unidentified other than the fact that I [Pete J] was one and Mark S. was t'other)" climbed Sca Fell by Lord's Rake, somehow not realising (or perhaps not caring) that it's not trivial in winter, though apparently they "had an idea it was SOMETHING" by the time they finished.
The weather forecast for Saturday was wet, so there were high expectations of the classic "Eskdale Waterfalls" walk. Stanley Gill Force was so impressive, Ruth tried to jump in backwards (from 150ft above), but nobody else seemed to agree.
Two groups actually managed a proper high-level walk; James and Tim did the Seatallan round, and four others climbed Pillar via Yewbarrow and descending over Haycock.
On Sunday, the weather forecast was for rain, so Paul, Kevin, Ruth, and John traversed the infamous Wasdale Screes (I thought you knew better, John?) and Sarah, Rich & Nikki opted for a sheltered low-level walk in Miterdale.
Some of the OAPs of the club went to Wasdale Head to do the so-called "Inner Horseshoe of Mosedale," walking up along one beck-side and back down along the other. The stones are terrible for zimmer frames!
James and Lizzie went to Coniston to bag Black Fell, perhaps hoping that the OS's claim that it's a good viewpoint would mean it wasn't misty there. It was. Andy and Andy dozed in the car, but joined them for an entertaining, rocky ascent of Holme Fell.
Rob, Pete (J), Margaret and Dave weren't afraid of the weather, and elected to spent a blustery day on the shelterless lump known as Seatallan.
Later on Sunday, we had the best weather of the week as we walked back home from the pub in still air with bright moonlight. Some idiot suggested it was a good night for a walk; several other idiots agreed. I blame the beer. Anyway, that's how it came to pass that Harter Fell was climbed in the dark.
The weather forecast for Monday was (you guessed it) wet. Very wet, with occasional thunder. Five mad clowns decided that merely wet still wasn't good enough, and set off to drown themselves (if not their sorrows) in Cowcove Beck.
There, they discovered John, Ruth & Pete, who had gone to see the spectacular waterfalls which appear in Cowcove Beck, and back to the bunkhouse without jumping in.
Paul's group had the best idea for dealing with the rain - they drove to Keswick and spent the afternoon at the climbing wall. Traitors.
Steve & Kevin did a low-level route by wild, romantic Devoke Water, and James & Margaret did a low-level route by wild, romantic Burnmoor Tarn.
For once, we had a forecast that mentioned the magic phrase "sunny intervals". We didn't let ourselves be put off by the fact that it was immediately preceded by the phrase "almost no chance of", nor that it was followed by "possibility of thunder".
Sarah and others climbed Crinkle Crags from upper Eskdale, and the rest of us drove to Wasdale Head, where James and others had a blustery day on Pillar.
Paul, Liz & I went up Great Gable, threading the Needle, and scrambling some greasy scramble on the way.
John & Ruth climbed Scafell Pike by Brown Tongue and Mickledore, and took the scenic route down via the Corridor route "because it was too windy to continue along via Broad Crag and Ill Crag". Well, that's if you believe what they say; the rest of us know it's because that's where they found themselves after wandering lost in the mist.
And on the final day, those of us who were left - after some[*] had skived off to sunnier climes - tidied up the bunkhouse and dispersed our separate ways. Those of us who travelled back to Cambridge in James' car all now know the true meaning of 'squashed'. (How do you get four hillwalkers in a Citroen? Two in the front, two in the back, and their gear on top of them, everywhere uncomfortable!)
[*] you know who you are!
And I almost forgot - what's a trip report with no silly quotes?
QWERTY on a
triple-word square in Scrabble
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