Langdale Pikes
The Langdale Pikes are probably the most recognisable collection of summits in England, but what are they like to walk when draped in their winter coat? Wonderful, is the slightly predictable answer.
Discover these Lakeland icons in their wintery disguise
Being left speechless by a place isn’t all that useful when it comes to having to write about it, but I will try my stoic best. Gawping at the pictures spread across these next few pages, you may have believed me if I said we were roaming some far-flung range in the Himalayas, or exploring an arctic tundra deep in remote Norway. But no, this winter wonderland adventure very much took place in dear old Blighty, atop the feverishly popular Langdale Pikes in the central fells of the Lake District.
With one of the most dramatically appealing and distinct mountain profiles in the UK, the Langdale Pikes are a pack of fells with a rock ’n’ roll celebrity status in Lakeland – with emphasis on the rock. Their notoriety and reputation precedes them, and much like The Beatles, Queen or Led Zeppelin, they’re comprised of a classic four-piece that everyone should know about.
I should say that the Langdale Pikes aren’t always referred to as a quartet. Depending on who you ask, the ‘band members’ may range in composition from a duet to a sextet. But the four taking centre stage here are Pavey Ark, Harrison Stickle, Pike of Stickle and Loft Crag. U
We’d come to tick off this famous Lake District circuit for the first time, and we’d got lucky. The forecast had steadily improved during the week leading up to our jaunt and on the morning, conditions surpassed all expectation.
A dense blanket of dawn fog smothered the valleys of Great Langdale as we headed for the National Trust car park by Sticklebarn pub. But once we set off, climbing the path beside the babbling Stickle Ghyll, the clouds began to dissolve around the rays of a golden winter sun. A wateryblue sky was revealed in patches, but the summerlike scenes overhead belied conditions on the ground where the flagstones were hazardously iced over. Powdery virgin snow coated the landscape in white, with scores of thin icicles hanging like frozen daggers from protruding rocks.
At the crest of Stickle Ghyll, the grand southern aspect of Pavey Ark and its domed top dominated the horizon. Rising sharply above Stickle Tarn, the mountain’s broad cliff face – scarred by the diagonal slash of Jack’s Rake – was largely free of snow thanks to the severity of its gradient. The tarn itself was partially frozen over and reflected a mesmerising image of the mountain on its surface. We skirted the tarn’s edge to the base of Pavey Ark’s east ridge. From here, the summit-bound path is nameless and would represent a gentle trudge up a grassy and snowless slope. With the mountain wearing its winter coat though, the route through the crag-fringed gully called for a little more attention and the use of poles.
Pavey Ark’s boulder-strewn summit presented a magnificent perspective over the snow-clad tumps
“Powdery virgin snow coated the landscaPe in white, with icicles hanging like frozen daggers from rocks”
of Great Langdale where streams and becks looked like veins in the fellsides. Windermere glinted in the distance, with Helvellyn stretching away in the north-east.
King of the hills
With the first of Langdale’s pikes in our back pocket, we made off towards Harrison Stickle, Pavey Ark’s higher, brawnier neighbour. The sky was now an unblemished canvas of azure, save for a few brushstrokes of wispy cirrus riding high in the stratosphere. The distance to Harrison Stickle from Pavey Ark is modest, less than one kilometre – but then the whole clutch of Langdale Pikes lie within three-quarters of a mile from one another, which is a big part of their allure.
Harrison Stickle, the highest of the Langdale Pikes at 736m, is one of those domineering mountains; an imposing mass of bulging rock asserting itself as the leader of its clan. We gained the fell’s craggy rounded top via its north ridge and a little easy scrambling over snow-dusted rocks. The summit is graced with a jumble-of-rocks-cairn, against which we leaned, took refreshments and drank in the majestic views.
The sweeping valley basin of Harrison Combe, on this day a vast plateau swathed in white, filled the void between Harrison Stickle and our next target, Pike of Stickle. Given the shin-deep snow, we planned our attack route carefully, with minimal effort and maximum efficiency in mind. The going was tough and slow as we hauled our legs through the snow, making fresh tracks and taking it in turns to lead.
Our toil wasn’t without reward. At reaching the shoulder of Pike of Stickle we were treated to a stupendous view into the Mickleden valley and, rising above it, the great Bowfell. To the east of Pike of Stickle, a glance into a narrow and stomachchurningly steep scree chute offered up further grandstand photo opportunities.
Crown jewels
Being distinctly thimble-shaped, Pike of Stickle involved a short but sharp clamber up its north-eastern flank that necessitated getting hands-on with the snowladen rock. Nothing too fearsome, but adrenalineinducing enough to rouse a sense of thrill.
A wonderful little summit awaited; small, perfectly domed and a joyous 709m-high vantage point to boot. Near-vertical crags plummet impressively off all sides, but none more severe than Stickle Breast which drops 600m into Mickleden valley over less than one kilometre – one of the steepest slopes in the Lakes.
Our final checkpoint on this wintry tour of the Langdales was Loft Crag. This knuckle of a fell isn’t as star-studded as the pair of Stickles but is still an influential, unsung hero of the quartet; George Harrison-esque, perhaps.
Sitting quietly on the sidelines, Loft Crag is without great height or stature while its summit is accessed with almost anticlimactic abruptness. But it does boast the monstrous buttress of Gimmer Crag on its southern face, a favoured haunt for Lakeland climbers. From its cornerstone position, meanwhile, Loft Crag grants a superb lookout, like the outermost turret of a grand castle would.
I gazed around at the panorama in front of me.
It was hard to imagine a more perfect scene.