Coniston Old Man
Don’t let winter lock you out of the mountains. But remember– they can bite.
Trail discovers this chap’s not always affable
If I went through the motions as many times as possible it would become natural. There would be nothing to worry about. It would be fine. It was nearly two years ago since I passed my winter skills course, and said skills were a little rusty. Nerves were getting the better of me. I swung my axe again. If the worst happened, I’d remember how to do an ice axe arrest. I’d chosen this route as an entry-level winter adventure, as a good stepping stone and confidence boost for getting back into the winter mountains. It didn’t require anything too technical – I hoped.
With a white cloak snapping in the wind behind him, The Old Man of Coniston stood high above us. At first glance it seemed peaceful enough, resting against a pale grey sky; but when we looked closer there was trouble looming in the creeping black clouds and the ever-increasing ferocity of the spindrift swirling higher and higher. As we meandered our way through the old copper mines of Coniston the rain pitter-pattered on our raised hoods, sounding much worse than it really was and deafening
each of us to conversation. As solid-soled winter boots rolled over stony tracks, we ascended the mountain, enjoying being wrapped up against the temperamental elements. The access track took us straight to Levers Water, where we entered The Prison – an ominoussounding name marked on the OS map. Just as we hit the snow line the sun broke through, catching on soft snowflakes. It looked rather idyllic; so why on earth was this place called The Prison?
Unbeknown to me at the time, it is in fact an area that’s notorious with Coniston Mountain Rescue. Tempting-looking paths lure walkers down steep slopes, renowned for good scrambling and climbing, where they often become cragfast. This is certainly a place where you need to know your way around a map and compass. The first kick of nerves came with the return of the group of three walkers who had been ahead of us. We’d seen them disappear over the Prison Band as specks in the distance, but almost immediately they reappeared and backtracked over the slope above us. Doubt started to eat away at me as I worried we’d taken on more than we were capable of. Why had those walkers returned?
The higher we climbed, the louder the howling sounded in our ears and the harder our coats cracked against our bodies. Holding onto hoods and hats we reached Swirl Hawse, the col between Swirl How and Black Sails, and with ice underfoot we came head on into a raging northerly wind. Bracing against the onslaught, it soon became apparent that this was going to be a true test of strength – standing strong against winds of over 50mph is tiring. Exalting, though. Picture it: holding your own against the wind as it strikes with full force, churning up a cauldron of dark clouds in the skies above. Like a jagged and rather warped stairway to heaven, the Prison Band led straight upwards into that murk – and that’s where we were going. The hammering of my heart was loud in my ears as excitement – and nerves – flooded through me as we started to climb. I could do this.
Ice covered every boulder, glassy and smooth where the wind couldn’t reach it, but rough and scoured on every exposed surface. Although it had looked daunting from below when stood high over Levers Water, we found our footing in gaps in the rocks where the snow was softer and easy to walk on. Scooping a handful of snow up, the lump disintegrated into tiny little balls – much like polystyrene. Called graupel, it’s often mistaken for hail but is actually very soft and crumbly. It’s one to watch out for as it can act like ball bearings, making snow unstable and often being the layer that gives way, causing an avalanche. Casting my memory back I recalled winter skills, where the importance of keeping track of the weather in the week before your walk was impressed upon us. Interested, we dug down into the gully to see if we could see any obvious layers from the past week – where a slab of snow may break off later in the season – but none showed.
Swirl How was the second highest point of our walk, missing out by a mere metre to The Old Man. With the initial climb conquered, we felt confident that the worst
was behind us. We’d easily navigated our way up through the snow and cloud, a huge boost to our confidence. The summit of Swirl How is marked by a monster cairn, letting walkers know they’re on course – and to mark the sharp drop into the Greenburn Valley. With no other shelter in sight we whipped out a bothy bag shelter and settled down to eat, thankfully not taking to the skies as the bag caught the wind. A bothy bag is a truly wonderful piece of kit; but despite giving fantastic relief from the elements, I can promise you it is not the best place to be when a companion whips out a tin of mackerel. Cold and numb our noses may have been, but they took a hit as the fishy smell enveloped the shelter. It certainly got us moving again quickly and we were soon back out into the cloud.
Lying directly south of Swirl How, it was a simple course to The Old Man. With the wind now at our backs the broad summits of Great How and Little How Crags made for easy walking. Crunching under our boots, the snow was thin and hard but for the raised footsteps of people who had gone before us. These boot-shaped mounds of hardy, compacted snow clung on to the mountain side like odd little limpets, marking the way forward.
As we crossed the broad summit of Brim Fell the clouds parted ahead of us and we had a clear view over to The Old Man. The highest point of our walk looked bulky with its rounded summit top, but also mean
with some sharp, snow-scoured drops. Mean it proved to be, as descending Brim Fell the winds decided that we’d had it too easy. There was no gentle warning that they were about to change tack – oh, no. As though somebody was there watching our every move, in the wind came, perfectly timed with the moment our feet touched the icy path. It hit, not from behind like we might have expected, but from the east, nearly taking us off our feet down the western slopes. With every muscle working to keep upright and true to the path, we shuffled forward before a brief break in the onslaught gave us a chance to scamper for the summit.
Summit bagged, we turned straight into the wind again for the homeward straight. The spindrift we’d seen earlier from the valley floor threw itself in our faces, chasing us down the path. If we’d learned anything, it was to smile in the face of adversity – but to not underestimate the toll the weather can take on you. This walk was the perfect introduction to the winter mountains for somebody looking to build confidence, but although it’s an easy climb in the summer it had tired us quickly with the addition of snow and wind.
The snowline was a distinct boundary, and once crossed the mountain tops felt far away, untouchable. We’d left the wild world of snow, ice and wind behind us and we now had access to well-worn paths again. There was no wind down here to stall us, and even the rain had stopped. It seemed altogether too still and calm after the bracing mountain tops. Walking became easy again and made us appreciate the strength of the weather. We left The Old Man behind with the black concoction of cloud still stirring itself up above us. This day had been a challenge but nonetheless brilliant. We’d stepped up and taken on winter, and we now felt ready for more. Appreciate the change and challenge that winter brings, time it right – and suddenly a whole new world is open to you. Go and enjoy it!