Meeting Uncle Tony (October 25th 2006)

Hairy's pal Uncle Tony had a few days off so he and H decided to wander up Bowscale Fell and Bannerdale Crags. This was quite a feat as H arranged for them to meet at a car park just along from Mungrisdale at 10.15. Why was this a feat? You have to remember that H was only driving 19 miles from Gilcrux but Uncle Tony was driving 205 miles from Boston! U. T. arrived at the rendez-vous about two minutes after Hairy arrived. Impressive, eh?

Bowscale Tarn is dead pretty and miles away from the touristy stuff, although it was a huge favourite in the past. The stroll is a doddle. A gentle stride along the Glenderamakin valley. The tarn is the sort of spot that would be great for a picnic and a paddle in the summer. In deepest October it's a bit chilly. Io and I decided we wouldn't have a splash as it was freezin.

The climb out from the tarn is a bit dodgy. It's really steep and very grassy. You gain height very quickly but then hit the brow and find a sort of plateau which takes you up to the summit. At the summit we had a bite of snap. I was trying to get more from Hairy by giving him the deep stare. It didn't work.

Io had a go as you'll see in the next piccie but she didn't get owt either. We only discovered later they'd packed only a few bits as they were planning a bite in the Mill Inn at Mungrisdale.

Ah, the best laid plans etc etc...

From the top of Bowsacle Fell, Bannerdale Crags is a mere spit away. (I know dogs can't spit but it's a figure of speech.) However, as we strode out the darkness descended and gloom was spread across the land - wow, sounds biblical, eh? OK, it clouded over and began the drizzly stuff. This was fine for a while but then things really warmed up as the drizz turned to rain with a capital R. By the time we reached the top of Bannerdale Crags we didn't even stop! It was raining so much. The path down was great. Really steep and rocky. I found this dead smooth stone that I carried for ages (but I digress). The two idiots had all their anti water gear on now and were splashing and splooshing about. Not for fun but because the path had turned into a river!! It was the wettest I'd ever seen a path (apart from when the Cocker floods near Crummock, of course).

I carried the stone all the way to the Mill Inn's doorway where I had to leave it, as the hewmings managed to negotiate getting themselves and two very very wet woofies into the bar.

The beer was Jennings, and according to them both not as good as it could've been. I know the radiator we lay next to was good. I noticed that poor beer didn't stop them having a second! Two disasters befell them that day: getting wet on the fell top and the fact that the pub had stopped serving food until the evening! Serves 'em right for not having a proper pack up.

It was actually worse for Uncle Tony. It rained virtually all the rest of his five days with us, so Bowscale Fell was the only serious thing he did!