The Lake District is famous for its landscapes and formerly resident literary giants William Wordsworth and Beatrix Potter, associations that for me conjure up images of crowded trails where I do not want to be. At one end of the scale there are the multitudes seeking Peter Rabbit and, ironically, the solitude of lonely clouds, and at the other, the insanely fit running up and down fells, bagging Wainwrights (the 214 peaks listed in Arthur Wainwright’s Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells, 1955-66). I confess this perception was based solely on two weekends in the region: the first in 2008 for the ultra-marathon Lakeland 50, so most of it I don’t really remember because I was too knackered. The second in 2023 was a weekend camping at Coniston to climb Hellvelyn via Striding Edge, which was stunning, but reminded me of a) the crowds, and b) that I don’t sleep well when people are driving cars across campsites.
But with two weeks falling clear for hiking in late summer, a route was needed where I didn’t have to go too far from London or that needed too much preparation. The Lakeland Way is a new (ish) 144 mile trail designed by Richard Jennings, who has kindly added the maps, gpx, and suggested camping on the website, and promises the less popular trails. All I needed to do was follow a track with plenty of deviations to be had along the way if I wanted.
The only real stressor was getting there. The rail network did its best to demonstrate the collapse of British civilisation: cancelled train at Euston, alternative found and cancelled, another alternative found but bumped off at Crewe, another alternative was cancelled at Lancaster. I rounded up two other stranded hikers and we taxied to Barrow-in-Furness where a two-carriage diesel train finally made an appearance for the last leg.
Every section of the Lakeland Way has its joys but if I had to pick favourites I’d go with Wasdale Head to Keswick via Scafell Pike and Haystacks (over three days, big ups, big downs, incredible views). Past Burnmoor Tarn, looking down on Waswater at the base of giants, Scafell to my right, it was so ridiculously beautiful I almost cried. For an easier traverse, the path from Troutbeck to Grasmere winds through forests above Lake Windemere, with a famous gingerbread house at the end. Under pressure to choose quickly from the very long queue behind me (Wordsworth fans!), I end up with gingerbread, ginger fudge, ginger marshmallow and ginger liquorice.
Beyond the favourites, every day settles into the rhythms of camping: an early start and flurry of activity, ending in reverse as campsites are remade and folk settle down for the night. Noise peters out until it’s just the sound of wind and grazing sheep in the next field. The sun rising on the other side is heralded by soft voices, gas burners, and tent poles and nylon packing down.
Between the start and end of each day the trail is mostly, surprisingly, silent. People, young and old, large groups and solo, wild campers and those just passing through, stretch out over the fells and valleys, rivers and lakes, along grand routes and little-used paths soon to be lost in new enclosures. We walk across cascades of water, rock and purple heather, infinity pools and dragon backs reaching down from high fell to low marsh.
There is a collecting and dispersing of humanity at crossroads and peaks. Gatherings at waterfalls honour free ranging kids joyfully leaping off cliff edges, and then dissolve into opaque forests. At some moment in the day there is a general stopping for picnics, brewing of tea, contemplation of geography. The unspoken rule is invoked: leave space. At an unappointed time, maybe as the air becomes a little cooler, we slowly stir again, going in whichever way we need to go, following becks, zigzagging down into valleys, or choosing steep scree and scrambling to remind the heart it’s alive.
While people could be sparse, there was at times quite a bit of wildlife and I began to understand where Beatrix Potter got her inspiration from. A robin came over to say hello on my first evening in Ravenglass. A rabbit hopped over for breakfast in Keswick, distracting me while a frog tried to climb into my pack to hitch a ride to Patterdale. A slug left its mark after a wild night sliding up and down the inside of my tent in Troutbeck. And for the grand finale, a red squirrel dropped out of a tree into my camp next to Ullswater. ‘You’re a red squirrel!’ I exclaimed. ‘I know!’ she said. We waved hands/paws and she headed off for a forage.
Apart from reminding us of our relationship with the non-human, the Lake District is also marked by the remnants of empire and deep time colliding with industry: Roman forts and bathhouses; mining slag heaps, slate grey dust and rusting iron; rutted forestry trails passing abandoned stone walls; crowded chocolate box villages with global chain stores and flat whites marking out new kingdoms. There are the gashes and clefts of old quarries cut into rock, now overgrown and pagan, home to creatures of myth and imagination.
Ruins are a reminder of how change wears away at the human, as does the weather. The seasons were turning as they always do, and there is that slight sadness that comes with the end of another summer. Campsites are closing down, paddle boards being deflated, cool boxes emptied and stowed. Squalls chase me up to Stick’s Pass into clear, warm sunshine on the other side. A storm rips through nighttime to make way for a clear morning. Another storm front hits by midday. Another clear afternoon. Again, a storm overnight. Wet gear on, wet gear off. Rivers rise, fords become wilful.
The weather forces us together. Joined by my partner at Coniston, we slide down moraine alongside a torrential river into the welcoming arms of the Newfield Inn, Seathwaite. The pub is full. An elderly couple and Arthur the dog chat for a while. A couple take respite before pushing on in the dark to their car 7km away. Four men kick the can down the road, drinking beer until they can figure out how to get home. A table of new age nomads play cards nearest the fire.
The next day, coming full circle, we cross from the Dudden Valley back to the Esk, following a Roman road over two days to the sea. I want to leave the lakes and fells and heather and infinity pools as slowly as possible and hoped for a signal failure or sink hole to cancel the trains. Only this time the network was actually functioning. No delays, no cancellations, no missed connections. We hopped on a train south to a maximal city I love but that can’t quite be reconciled with the joy of not being in it.
Some practical notes
I made a few deviations to the official Lakeland Way route to add in some height and some scenery: Muncaster Fell on Day 1; Scafell Pike on Day 2; Haystacks on Day 4 (you can’t be that close and not have a look at Wainwright’s favourite fell on the way to Buttermere). If the weather is good from High Street, near Windermere, take the route on the left, down to Troutbeck via Bell, Yoke and Buck Crag.
With time constraints and limited accommodation in Dockray, I had planned to compress the three-day section from Buttermere to Patterdale into two, pushing on past Braithwaite to camp in Keswick and then skipping Dockray going straight to Patterdale. But unless you’re fit and fast and doing it in summer with more light, I wouldn’t recommend it. It was almost 30 km from Keswick to Patterdale and over 1200m ascent. It had been a long, hot day and I was fatigued. With storms forecast to break the next day, it wouldn’t have been any fun to push through in bad weather. I rerouted to skip over to Patterdale from Keswick via Stick Pass.
This deviation did slightly shake my iron clad faith in OS maps as I realised that not all their trail markings are passable/findable. From Keswick I met 10km of road, head high bracken, bog, bracken, road. I should have taken the bus to the trail head at Legburthwaite.
With the exception of junctions with larger towns, there were far fewer people on the route than I imagined for the end of summer including a bank holiday, and far fewer tea houses and pub kitchens open than I thought there would be. The latter meant that occasionally lunch consisted of two packets of crisps and a slice of cake. Keswick, as tourist central, is a great place to stock up on essentials, repair stuff, and load up on Cumbrian baked goods and decent coffee.
The route has now become a mental map of places I’d like to wild camp next time, but for a little more luxury campsites only cost £8-£18. The Caravan and Camping Club are my newest favourite friends. They have a policy of never turning away backpackers and have a special rate for us as long as we absolutely promise we are arriving on foot. Their shower blocks are lovely. In both Ravenglass and Keswick I had a spacious site under a tree, surrounded by nice neighbours in very expensive RVs.
Many farms in the region have diversified their income by opening up fields and building toilet/shower blocks for campers and caravaners. Castle farm in Stonethwaite has fields but also converted a small walled orchard behind the farm sheds, free of cars and made for small campers (although some still brought tables, chairs, cool boxes etc). Side Farm, near Patterdale, has a tea shed for refreshments while the tent is up and drying (no substantial food, just tea, cake and snacks, so stock up in Glenriding). It’s a beautiful site, overlooking the lake.
Get in early for the best pitches. I like to have a tree canopy and at least one side facing a fence/wall so that I can have just one neighbour if possible. At peak times, do not be surprised if you wake in the morning and find all the gaps between tents have been filled with latecomers overnight. Take a few £1 or 50p coins for those sites that have coin operated showers (e.g. Wasdale Head Inn and Castle Farm, Stonethwaite).
I have perfected the art of keeping everything dry (ish) in wet weather, even in an ultra-light one-person tent. I can pack everything away from the inside out. It helps being only 5’2”. The pack stays inside under my feet or tucked into a nook in a nearby tree with its cover on overnight. Packing wet tents is not fun, even if you have the latest tech that beads water and lets you shake most of it off, but at least in the UK you know the sun will come out at some point and the tent will dry eventually. For my MSR tent, it takes about the same time to dry out as to order and eat a double egg butty at the Wasdale Head Inn.
Other great camping options are YHAs. I am a lifetime member but until this trip have rarely used them in the UK and somehow missed their regeneration into the modern world. I wandered over to YHA Borrowdale (Stonethwaite) in the hope of finding a socket for recharging. I found wifi, a bar, restaurant, camping area, pods, bell tents, Airstream RVs, teepees, and fire pits. They still don’t technically open reception until 5pm (ish) but there is always space to wait inside out of the rain. They have very popular drying rooms, although the boiler was broken at YHA Windermere so the room was soon covered in dozens of pairs of wet socks, shirts, underwear, trousers, and gortex, with no hope of getting dry. The smell was rank but at least there was chickpea and sweet potato curry in the evening (it’s the same menu in every YHA but it’s decent).
If you want to B&B it most towns on route have pubs, inns and/or hotels. The Boot Inn is excellent for accommodation and food, ready for all inner-city hipsters with a seriously good veggie menu AND oat milk flat whites. Newfield Inn, Seathwaite, is a bit more rustic but excellent hosts and pub food. On the other hand, the Black Bull Inn in Coniston is an awful place to stay. Its rooms in no way reflect the website photos. I woke about 12am to get into my camping sheet as my skin was crawling with suspicion that the bed sheets had not been laundered between guests.
There is no guidebook or full route description yet for the Lakeland Way so sometimes I had no idea why Richard had sent me in a particular direction. I got to Hodges Close, for example, at the top of a forested ravine and thought ‘random!’. Luckily two people emerged from a rough-cut path and described the hidden quarry below. It’s definitely worth the diversion.
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