LAKE DISTRICT
The lonely hills on the Lake District’s eastern edges have never ranked high on any hillwalking bucket list. But we had a thought recently – maybe the SHAP FELLS aren’t that crap after all. So off we went to investigate.
Context is everything. Before me was the M6 motorway, a large quarry complete with four smoking chimneys, a railway line, the A6, behind that a minor road, then the dam wall of the grimmest sounding reservoir in the country – Wet Sleddale. Only then could I see the things I wanted to see – the Shap Fells, the eastern Lake District’s close-held secret.
Starting the day by heading off in the opposite direction to the main event was important. For years I’d avoided the area of Wet Sleddale. Once or twice I’d ventured there. Once or definitely twice, I’d experienced the wettest of days in the appropriately named hellhole that I thought Wet Sleddale and the Shap Fells to be.
Thinking about it, there’s another reason why I’d avoided the area. Years ago I’d been caught short while out in the Lake District fells, and was in need of something to replace toilet paper. There was no moss to hand and not having brought any tissues, I turned instinctively to my map. Yes, I know, it’s sacrilege to wipe one’s arse with an OS map (obviously unlaminated), but needs must. The funny thing was I made a conscious decision as to which part of the map I’d use. I saw the Shap Fells area and thought two things. The first was that I’m never going there again, it’s always wet. And secondly, Shap rhymes with crap. It seemed like it was telling me to use it.
Reluctant visitor
So you can probably understand my unconscious avoidance of the area. But time marches on and eventually you start to run out of mountains to climb. New areas must be explored to stop the mind silting up with the inevitable repetition of hills summited. Over the last few years, my walks kept creeping closer and closer to the area, allowing me glimpses into the Shap Fells. So much so that I was left with the impression that there was some really rather interesting looking terrain in the Sleddale valley. That’s why I’d climbed to the vantage point on the other side of the motorway, to see the far-off treasures that glittered beyond the hand of humankind. To understand their context, to see the worst of them before I saw the best.
Rainbows… they always mean changeable weather and to a photographer that’s a dream (I’m a photographer). On that day, Wet Sleddale Reservoir was presided over by a bow of many colours, quite different from the last time I’d left my car in its broken glass-littered car park. The difference to the majority of the rest of th
