Winter wanderings
Meet Riggindale – the Lake District ridge built for winter wandering.
Under snow, riggindale ridge has something for everyone.
I’d been here before, but never seen it. From the water’s edge the perfect knobbled spine of Riggindale Ridge rose onto the arcticlooking plateau of High Street. Down here the safety of the muted greens and browns of winter held no resemblance to the white and adventurous world we were about to enter.
Kitted out with brand new winter boots, ice axe and crampons packed, we were ready for anything. Rising from Haweswater Reservoir in a lonely corner of the eastern Lake District, accessed only by a long winding road that leads to nowhere, we followed the path to join the apex of Riggindale’s ridge. As we climbed, snow began to fall in heavy round balls and the mist gathered in around us.
The last time I’d climbed Riggindale had actually been quite terrifying. A complete whiteout had engulfed us on High Street. My eyes had wrestled impossibly to adjust to the non-existent contrasts between ground and sky. I hadn’t been able to tell if I was walking uphill, downhill or off the crags into thin air. Only the compass gave any indication of our direction. So behind my outward smiles, a wave of uncertainty clouded my head with the gathering mist above. Would it be a repeat of last time? The call of this particular ridge was undeniable though. A classic Lakeland landscape. A dusting of winter. An exposed ridge of rough and scrambly terrain. It had everything a mountain-lover could wish for.
Although shielded from the wind by the hulk of High Street ahead of us, the clouds were whipping along and the patchy blue sky returned, revealing a stupendous view of the ridge once again extending down to the deep reflective blue of the 4-mile long, 200ft-deep reservoir. Haweswater conceals the remains of the once attractive village of Mardale whose houses, pub, church and graveyard were flooded by the construction of a dam in 1935, creating one of the largest lakes in England.
With the village long gone, and no settlements on its shores, Haweswater valley
has a silent, almost eerie atmosphere. Stepping above the snowline, there was much more snow than had appeared from below and we were transported to another world altogether. It was beautiful in a way that only the discordance of a frozen landscape against the colours of the sky and the warmer valley below can bring.
Hopes were high. I felt a flutter of excitement. The entire mountain was deserted of other people for as far as we could see. We felt alone, bold, daring. The aesthetic of the route was undeniable, a perfectly-formed Lakeland ridge. The walking was captivating and fun, a few rockier sections required a touch of handson. Some narrower sections gave a sense of height and exposure – just the right amount to feel epic, not enough to unnerve. In summer the ridge is a classic, in winter it’s flipping awesome and feels like something far more adventurous.
As we became absorbed into the ridge climb there was much more to it than could be seen from below, each stage with a different character. Then Blea Water, the deepest of the Lake District tarns, came into view. The slopes from the surrounding mountains fell in free fall into the edges of its inky surface, which was rippling and twirling in winds we couldn’t yet feel.
We were not the only ones to appreciate Riggindale. The last golden eagle in England nested right here for
15 years until he sadly failed to appear again in the spring of 2016. The altered environment of even our most wild landscapes have meant that large raptors like golden eagles have struggled to thrive, and the 500 or so remaining golden eagles are all now in Scotland. Haweswater is one of many Lakeland valleys undergoing restorative projects to bring back a range of natural habitats though. There is a hope that the project to reintroduce golden eagles back to southern Scotland that started last summer might one day see some of these magnificent birds once again making their way back into the English Lakes.
“THE ENTIRE MOUNTAIN WAS DESERTED OF OTHER PEOPLE FOR AS FAR AS WE COULD SEE. WE FELT ALONE, BOLD, DARING...”
A swirl of spindrift heralded another change in weather conditions, as we climbed up through a side gully and onto the final widening nose of the ridge. The steeper snow-covered slopes onto the top of High Street were lost for a moment. The wind became ferocious, so hunkering down we donned our goggles. The snow was soft and steps could easily be kicked in, making crampons unnecessary. It was a battle to the 828m high summit cairn though.
Heavy hail made us retreat into our mountain shelter to ride out the worst. It was amazing to think that as well as being the country’s highest Roman Road, this very location was used for summer fairs up until the 1830s. Drinks, dances, feasts, wrestling and horse racing all took place on this wide, summit plateau – hence the summit’s other name of ‘Racecourse Hill’.
The views from High Street’s top are apparently jaw-dropping. Views extend from the Pennines to Morecambe Bay. The Helvellyn range, the Langdale Pikes and the Consiton range are all visible… on a clear day. Our route was not about the views though. The excitement of the ridge was good enough not to need that cherry on top.
The cloud blew through and there was none of the lasting whiteout conditions of the last time at least. A choice of descents back down to Haweswater presented themselves from the top. Summit-baggers may prefer to go via Mardale Ill Bell and Harter Fell tops, but our route was down the lovely rocky gully off Kidsty Pike.
We made our way north along the plateau and along the Straights of Riggindale. What had appeared to be a sprinkling of snow from the valley felt like a wintery wilderness. Above Short Stile we found a small edge twice my height, where snow had accumulated into a lovely wall just perfect for honing our winter techniques. So axes out, we practised traversing the vertical slope kicking steps and using ice axe holds.
The route down Kidsty Pike is easy but surprisingly enjoyable, with a succession of rocky steps in a gully that descends steeply and gives you that feeling of being very small amongst a land of giant rock. Then all too soon we were deposited back into the earthy colours of the valley more than satisfied and with memories and pictures to last a lifetime.
In the most easterly reaches of the Lake District, where eagles dared to fly and the ghosts of lost villages haunt the valleys, we’d found what might just be the best winter ridgeline there is.