Warning! Ronald Turnbull resorts to some homegroan pun-ditry
THE BEST SORT of walking, Wainwright says, is ridge-walking. But when the ridge is as wide, and as flat, as High Street – well, you don’t get to see much by looking down the sides. And you certainly don’t see anything looking up the sides, seeing as you’re already at the top. Which is one reason why I like the Threshthwaite Glen.
It’s an enclosed wee place, a slanting valley between high, steep walls of grass and rock, with the Pasture Beck flowing along the bottom. Why it’s so named is hard to say, as it’s a rocky little stream, with scarcely a buttercup or a milkmaid to be seen...
This path is rugged with natural rock, rather than human erosion. A raven soars overhead, and the green fields of Hartsop get less and less in the narrow vee behind. It’s 3km, and 350m of ascent, up the Threshthwaite Glen. That’s even long enough to work out that the Pasture Beck gets its name because, all the way up, it’s forever flowing Past-yer.
If you’re chuckling at the pun (okay, you probably aren’t) you’ll lose the grin at the top. Threshthwaite Mouth is a place as impressive as its name, a classic saddle between two great mountain slopes. It’s tempting to use it as the natural hill pass that it is and keep straight on down the Trout Beck. But it’s a bit boggy down there, and Troutbeck village only means a rather long bus ride back to Patterdale. So I take the steep and rather stony path up left, to Lakeland’s finest hill cairn: the one on Thornthwaite Crag. (What’s that? You quite like the one on Hallin Fell? Hallin Fell claims views to all of Ullswater – but Thornthwaite Crag overlooks Windermere and the sea.)
And yes, the High Street ridgeline is a bit flat. It’s so flat they used to run horse races on it, and last time I was there I passed a string of pony trekkers. But when I said you don’t see down the side, I lied. As you reach High Street’s puddly summit with its little concrete trig pillar, just by edging over to the right I can stop for a sandwich with my toes dangling directly above Blea Water, 300m below. Then along the Straits of Riggindale, there are great views down westwards, over the top of Grey Crag to the Helvellyn range, and green glimpses of the Patterdale valley far below.
And if the mist is down on the top of High Street, there’s always consolation to be had from the Lakeland place names. On the long-drawn out descent over 7km back to Patterdale – just how many more poor puns can I construct?
The Knott is so called because it should ‘Knott’ be missed. And maybe Wainwright baggers go to Rest Dodd just once and ignore it ever after. But for me it’s a place to stop for a Rest, while the Rest of the world passes by below. Leaving Angle Tarn, I aim for the lower path.
Its narrow line along the steep side of Angletarn Pikes means I’m never going to be bored on the way to Boredale Hause.