Ridges & tarns
We cross carefully over Crook Beck on rocks held back from greening by the passage of boots, and head directly for the toe of Steel Edge. This long ridge lolls down from the southern spur of Wetherlam, mirrored by Wetherlam Edge on the far-side of the wide corrie that has been eroded from the flanks of the mountain. In combination, the two appear as outstretched arms, welcoming the walker to this quiet corner of Lakeland.
Amongst the earthy tones that dominate the landscape, an empty black hole stands out; the entrance tunnel to a copper mine. As intriguing as such places may be, they’re uncompromisingly dangerous. We pass by, the watery slurp and squelch of our boots the loudest sound. As the ground climbs towards the start of Steel Edge it becomes drier and firmer, solidified by broken rock and terraces of stone. An open cleft surrounded by grassed-over spoil shows evidence of more excavation as we climb onto the early slopes of the ridge.
Steel Edge is bathed in low sunlight. Pools of water shimmer like flecks of foil in the rustic hues of the landscape. Clouds tumble effortlessly through the expanse of blue overhead, their shadows chasing each other across the ground. A small, bare tree, little more than a large twig, clings to an impossibly compact patch of turf in a rock face, determined to live, to survive. The now distant rush of the river and the breeze in the naked purple branches below fill the air with hushed whispers. To the right the dank, dark vegetated cliffs of Wetherlam’s steep eastern face rise above Henfoot Beck in the corrie, the splayed tributaries of the stream looking just like its namesake.
The lumpen ridge rises and narrows. Then as it steepens, the grass recedes and rock is left to take over in the final push. A loose, orange-shingled path winds up through the lines of least resistance. Club moss and heathers sprout from the walls of a shallow copper-tinted gully, its narrow channel providing a strange sense of confinement on this otherwise open hillside. Above the gully, and beyond spiked fins of sharp stone, the grass sweeps back. Scattered outcrops fight the rock resistance, but Steel Edge is done. We thread through a smattering of small tarns – tarnlets, if you will – that rest in the wrinkles of Wetherlam’s long southern offshoot, then swing north and head for the summit, now no more than a kilometre away.
over the ridge of Black Sails, the rugged Coniston massif toys atmospherically with swirls of cloud. South, at our backs beyond the Yewdale Fells, Coniston Water leads away into the hazy distance, where the sprawling sands of Morecambe Bay beckon. Over east, the huge lake of Windermere (although purists will tell you it isn’t) dominates, before the eyes are led willingly over Ambleside and up onto the Fairfield Horseshoe.
Heading for Wetherlam’s nearing summit we pass close to the top of a grim-looking gully, twisting and steepening as it plunges down past Hen Tor. While such formidable places are out of remit for the average walker who, much like the lone tree on Steel Edge, would rather go on living, it is perhaps a potential winter destination for those frost-hardened climbers who make an art of suffering on such routes that ‘come in’ under snow and ice.
Summit views
On Wetherlam’s domed summit the rock is back in charge. The early afternoon light casts honey-tinged shadows among the stones around the summit cairn. The wind is light but cold and biting, and the views are full 360° splendour; every fell looks grand, every lake a masterpiece. Far below, a 4x4 with a trailer – no doubt a farmer with livestock – chugs and rattles along Wrynose Pass. White cottages dot the green pastures down in Little Langdale and the quarries below Holme Fell are grey and silent. Wetherlam’s shadow, lengthened by the low sun, stretches towards Blea Tarn and the Langdale valley. We leave the summit and walk in the same direction to the start of Wetherlam Edge, thin willows of cloud wisping past overhead, pursuing a honking V of geese.
Caves & pools
Steep runnels slicked by trickling water cut back and forth, descending sharply towards the levelling at Birk Fell Hawse. A low mouthed cave yawns down to the left. On closer inspection its throat is narrow and damp, far from a tempting bivvy spot, but one that could pass for shelter in an emergency. A short downward scramble, made awkward by the wetness of the outward sloping slabs, leads below a bank of bare rock, slick, damp and stained by moss and lichen in patches, and patterned by swirls and ladders of snow-white quartz in others.
Pools of light marble the landscape. Some fells are cloaked in shadow, their features flattened, but above Langdale the pyramid-topped profile of Pike of Stickle is unmistakable. Wetherlam’s shadow has been following us across the fells, and we turn to see the glow of the sun catch the upper lip of Hen Tor before it slinks behind the mountain. A boggy pool, as red as it is green, wallows in a shallow saddle. Beyond it, stepped rock, a low cairn, and another sodden col lead onto the short ascent of Birk Fell Man.
In the gently rolling fellside below, we rejoin the trees;
gnarled, naked and wind-bent larches. In the shallow soil, their wide-spread roots have not been enough to keep all of them standing. Many are horizontal, although most are still living, some still grasping chunks of the bedrock in their roots. A dark, reddish pool, its surface pierced by spine-like grasses, reflects the bulk of Wetherlam with the flair of an impressionist master, while another parade of larches – as many toppled as standing – demonstrate that life amongst the rocky knolls of these high fells is a tough existence for trees.
Changing landscapes
Wetherlam’s east face is now entirely in shadow, and us with it. Grass, moss and decaying bracken weave a natural carpet in earthy yarns of greens, yellows, reds, and browns as we skirt a moss-hummocked bog on the ascent to Blake Rigg. On a hillside to the east a black rectangle stands out, its angular regularity at odds with the rough edges and undefined shapes of the surrounding landscape. A fan of loose grey rock spills from its opening, spreading down and out across the slope, showing that this area too has seen the sharp end of the quarryman’s pick.
Trees & waterfalls
Throughout the ascent of Steel Edge, a single tree had caught our eye on the distant hillside at our backs. Perched on a grassy platform on the southern nose of Blake Rigg, a single tree stood alone. But as we near this solitary larch we see, lying at its earthbound feet, the skeletal branched remains of a long dead trunk. Lonely indeed is the tree who not only hears its sole companion fall but is obliged to witness its slow inevitable decay.
The sorrowful mood of the mourning larch is lifted as we enter the wooded gorge, resplendent with tumbling waterfalls and moss draped from the branches of live and thriving trees. The noise and violence of the water’s force as it tumbles through the narrow canyon seems at odds with the sense of peace and tranquility it affords. We linger a while on the footbridge, watching the water churn through the wooden slats beneath our feet, before climbing steeply away from the beck on steps cut from slate, which itself had been cut from the mountain. We pass the spoil heaps, the final resting place for slate not even fit for steps, with their hue now paler and greyer in the fading afternoon light and leave the mountain.
We’ve had the best of Wetherlam, but that’s not all. With soaring ridges, sculpted crags, mini tarns, wooded slopes, secluded gorges, cascading rivers, and seemingly infinite summit views, not only has this been the best of Wetherlam, but some of the finest features of the whole of Lakeland, all condensed and distilled into a few hours, eight kilometres, and just six grid squares.