Vivienne Crow gets an insight into Lakeland geology
I’D WALKED over the top of Crag Fell on numerous occasions, normally on my way to or back from longer walks. It’d always made for decent hiking: keeping to the northern edge, where the ground drops away steeply, you’re treated to a fine perspective of Ennerdale Water as well as a peek into Ben Gill. The path from Bleach Green Cottages crosses this ghyll at a point where the beck bubbles along merrily through a sumptuous, green hollow before disappearing over a sudden lip into the rocky, hostile ravine.
The juxtaposition of such contrasting environments in the hills never fails to stop me in my tracks –
and yet it happens all the time.
On this autumn day though, I eschewed the path up through the forestry land above Bleach Green path and decided to explore the less benign northern slopes instead. With dark clouds still smothering the high fells on the northern side of the valley, I followed Wainwright’s Coast to Coast route along Ennerdale Water’s southern shores for a couple of hundred metres and then began gently ascending. The first big grin of the day came as I popped up into the saddle above Anglers’ Crag and was greeted by the sight of the oft-forgotten crags and coves on Ennerdale’s south side.
From the col, there are two trails heading up into a more complex landscape – one passes over the top of Cragfell Pinnacles; the other beneath them. I opted for the latter. I tottered along on scree for part of the way, looking up at the towers hanging, it seemed, precariously above. Stare for too long and the angle of those looming rocks provokes a slight, nauseating dizziness. The apron of tumbled boulders spilling from their feet does little to assuage that sensation.
Beyond the pinnacles, I entered an even more unusual landscape, one where the turbulence of past millennia was clear to see. What I’d always assumed was a relentlessly steep slope was pitted with boulderfilled holes, piles of shattered stones and slender rock needles. I was entranced by what I saw, wandering amongst the hollows, lingering, trying to make sense of the forces that had created this. Eventually, though, I found myself on the main ridge path, dull in comparison.
When I reached Crag Fell’s summit, a few shafts of sunshine were performing their magic on Ennerdale’s upper reaches. The High Stile range was finally glowing after its long morning under the blankets; golden beams on Pillar and Steeple reminded me of the plans I had for those fells for the following summer. It was probably too late in the year now for any of those long, tough outings; but it was good to examine the routes from a distance, the sun kindly highlighting ridges I’d yet to climb. Having enjoyed a long lunch gazing up at those higher fells, I turned my back on the wistful scene and, with the Irish Sea in the distance, headed west across the boggy moorland to begin my return.