THE GREY BLANKET HAD LAIN HEAVILY ACROSS THE FELL TOPS ALL MORNING but as I trudged up the muscle-wrenching track towards the summit of Blencathra, the veil of swirling mist gave way to shafts of sunlight.
By the time I reached the top of one of my favourite Lake District fells, the sky was awash with blue.
A fellow walker huddled against a pile of rocks smiled. “Someone must be looking after you. It’s been a real pea-souper up here but you’ve brought the sun,” he said, munching the remnants of his sandwich.
Lakeland is England’s dampest region and I’ve endured my share of drenchings in this corner of the country, but this time the sun was a frequent companion.
Being able to enjoy some cloud-free fell tops was a huge relief because I was spending only a few days following in the footsteps of the late Alfred Wainwright, a hillwalking legend who knew this part of the world like the back of his hand.
It’s over 70. Six more guidebooks—all beautifully presented with intricately detailed walking routes and appealing ink drawings—followed, as well as other books.
