Alex Roddie gets hot and bothered on a mini-mountain
‘OF THE LESSER HEIGHTS of Lakeland,’ Wainwright wrote in The Central Fells, ‘Loughrigg Fell is pre-eminent.’ It’s hard to disagree. I was determined to ignore Lakeland’s lesser heights during my early explorations of the Lake District, but in recent years my appreciation for these lower hills has grown. In addition to being small and perfectly formed, they have some (perhaps obvious) practical advantages: they don’t take long to climb, and they require less effort than the bigger peaks. Perfect for a late start on a blisteringly hot day during a spring heatwave.
A few days after our wedding, Hannah and I were on a ‘mini-moon’ in the Lake District – a short camping trip prior to our real honeymoon in Scotland later in the year. We were based in Rydal, and didn’t manage to drag ourselves out of the tent until after 10 o’clock. When I unfolded the map, Hannah pointed at the obvious hill on the other side of Rydal Water. “Loughrigg Fell. That looks easy to walk to. What’s it like?”
The Rothay was running low and sluggish as we set out along the track to Loughrigg Terrace through shady woodlands where bluebells provided splashes of colour. Soon we found the colossal entrance of Rydal Cave, and stepping into the darkness felt like stepping out of an oven into a fridge – but we couldn’t stay in there forever. Loughrigg beckoned. Plenty of other walkers were out enjoying the early dose of summer, and on such a compact mountain it felt like a surprisingly social affair. Every walker we met was full of smiles. Despite hillwalking’s undeserved reputation as a middle-aged pastime, most of the people we met were in young family groups.
Onward to the summit.
The walk had felt gentle up until this point, but the pull up from the end of Loughrigg Terrace was a bit abrupt in the midday heat, and neither of us minded taking a couple of rests to admire the view.
The summit was all about shimmering heat haze and gulps from water bottles. I was glad we’d decided to leave the Langdale giants alone until cooler conditions returned.
The descent soon took us into a big area of lumpy ground and lime-green bracken fiddleheads bursting up through the bleached straw of the previous autumn.
Sheep tracks spread in all directions, but I wanted to head for the track descending east of Loughrigg past Fox Ghyll. The sun beat down.
Both of us were glad to be in the shade of the trees again for a while.
Back at the campsite, it was all we could do to head for the tearoom and order lemonade and ice cream. Loughrigg had been a good call.