Forty One Years, One Walk

August 2017 and we had finished our city break in Lisbon when Maureen wanted to go to Stickle Tarn. Well, we had planned to go on the day after we had returned from our holiday, but why was she so keen on doing a walk that we had done plenty of times before? The answer is that in August 1976 we went on our first holiday together, and Stickle Tarn was the first mountain walk that we did as  a couple. She was nineteen and I twenty six.  So let's go back in time to the summer of 1976.

We had been staying at the Achille Ratti climbing club, a Catholic organization, which I had joined a couple of years earlier, as I had been less than impressed with the behaviour of some of my club mates on climbing trips; and I wanted to take my girlfriend to a civilized place. The summer had been hot and dry, but the weather had begun to break and we were getting occasional showers, but the day was hot and clear, so we ascended the fifteen hundred feet or so to the tarn. 

The climb consists of a walk interspersed by occasional scrambles and a river crossing on large, well placed stepping stones.Soon we came to the first waterfall, where people were sitting to take picnics, but we moved upwards on the west side of the beck [stream.] The second waterfall, a much larger one, hove into view, and above that we did our first river crossing to reach the east side, where we continued walking upwards, scrambling over rocks before we took the second crossing on the large boulders, which were dry because the summer had been hot and water levels were low, but we were young and nimble on the rocks and confident.

The route is steep at this point and towers over you but not dauntingly, as the steepest bit is not long, but there is a section where you scramble up rocks. Then the climb evens out over land that is boggy in Winter, but then was dry as a bone. We came to the lip of the tarn and looked over the ever-chilly water, whose surface can be warm, but which has cold and dangerous depths.We rested and took in the view of the towering might of Pavey Ark behind the tarn. Then we picknicked and descended the way we came, for this is not a circular route. 

That night we dined in the newly opened Stickle Barn restaurant, which was  crowded because upstairs the elite of British mountaineering were meeting. She had scampi, I had steak. Then we walked back to the hostel through the warm night. Why is this so special in her mind? It was at the end of that holiday that I asked her to marry me and she accepted. 

We have revisited the walk many a time, always at her behest, and we have known it in many moods.There have been icy days and watery days, and sometime the sun has blazed. Once we walked up to the narrow summit of Pavey Ark. Another time Andrew raced all the way round the tarn just for the love of cross country running.  

The picture below is taken from the rocky end just below Pavey Ark.You can see the narrow lip of the tarn at the rear of the picture. 

Forty one years later, and we were back. This time we were not alone, as my second son, Peter, had come with us, without his wife, who could not get the time off work. He is currently training for a triathlon, so this shows you his fitness. I noticed that quietly and respectfully he seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on his not so young parents, and I was to be grateful for his help, but more of that later.

The weather was wet with the soft English rain a-falling at times. At the start we saw some young people leaning to rock climb at the first waterfall; no one was picknicking. I had taken the precaution of bringing with me my walking  staff, a stout pole of sturdy Irish hazel,for I have been having trouble with both knees recently and so I wanted support. It's a great help,allowing  me extra leverage as I ascend steep bits. There is a thong at the top through which I can place my hand while scrambling.  

All went well on the ascent, though the ground was slippery in places, especially the rocks, so we made the river crossing carefully, though without slips, moving as quickly as possible over the large boulders. I have noted, though,  that my speed has somewhat declined, though I was not breathless. But we reached the lip of the tarn and overlooked the long-familiar lake, where we dined on tuna sandwiches, chocolate bars, crisps and apple juice.  We began the descent. It went well until about two thirds of the way down.  

Then I fell! What happened was that I was lingering behind the others when I got my foot stuck between two rocks and I lost my balance. The staff saved me from a worse fall, but I landed with one foot stuck in the rocks and my right leg twisted under my body. Moving was going to be difficult without  causing further damage, so I called for help and Peter came racing back to help out.We carried on, but it was clear that I had hurt my leg, for my right thigh was paining me, so I told the others to get ahead out of the rain and made my own pace. We only had about three hundred feet of descent to go. Eventually, as I was nearing the second from the last gate Maureen came back to find out if there was anything wrong. I told her to hurry on to the Stickle Barn, as we were nearly there anyway.

As in 1976 we dined at the Stickle Barn, now run by the National Trust, where she had pork and I grilled salmon. Forty one years on, same  walk, same restaurant. An enjoyable meal, but I was glad that she could drive us home. My right leg took a couple of days to heal, but now is fine.