Mosedale Cottage, a white croft in the snow
Happy Friday!
Mosedale Cottage is a surprisingly hard walk from Sadgill (pronounced Sedge-Ill) in the south. What I imagined would be a pleasant sunlit meander following a gentle river quickly turned into a riptide hike up a gorge. I marched upward through, first, the iceline and then the snowline.
At the turn off for the cottage, the path turned into nothing more than footprints in the snowfall and I had difficulty following along in a landscape riven by streamlets. At one point I lost my right leg to the thigh in an unseen ghyll.
This will be sacrilege for hiking traditionalists, but thank goodness for the remarkable precision of in-our-pocket GPS. My phone told me - to within a metre - of where I'd misstepped and, back on the footprinted path, the going blessedly eased.
The path trailed up to a tor of rock, where I met a man clamping down on Alpine walking sticks. The mist rolled over the ridge and he uttered nervous words about being benighted on the fells. I didn't share that I was voluntarily benighting myself, nervous that I'd jinx the bothy.
Over the top, I slushed my way through the boggy ice-marsh. It was hard to say which terrain was more favourable: the slopping of the infirm marsh, or the slipping of the ice floes. A footprint was caught suspended in ice over a rivulet of cold water.
Finally, shrouded in snow and gloaming afternoon, Mosedale Cottage revealed itself, huddled against the wind by a cluster of pines. The stream clattered over the rocks and my breath hung in the air before scurrying away.
I looked for signs of occupation, but no smoke rose from the chimney and yesterday's bootprints were long frozen over. I never did decide whether my solitude was a good thing: I could have used a companion to share the burden of fuel.
Would there be coal for the stove? I'd lugged kindling all this way, but would I have anything to light? Stuart, the keeper of this bothy for the Mountain Bothies Association, had warned me to expect nothing.
And, indeed, nothing there was. It would be a cold night.
I wearily set alight my camping stove and heated a tin of beans. I pulled on a fresh pair of socks (always carry socks) and decided to have a good root around the courtyard cluster of buildings before the light faded.
Digging into the cinder-bottom of the coal pit, I glimpse flashes of shiny black coal, and manage to salvage a bagful of the precious overlooked nuggets. Stacking my fire lighters, the Westmorland Gazette and a handful of kindling, I was soon warming my hands on the blaze.
The fire lasted a good four hours before I must have done something wrong: the flames dampened out before the last of the coal had burnt. At least there'd be a few lumps left for someone else, but I wouldn't be staying another night.
FIRE STARTING IN A BOTHY: A PACKING LIST
Candles. It's silly to go all that way to wilderness and solitude and spend the whole night bumping around to the light of your phone.
Ideally, your own fuel, somehow. Coal is heavy, wood is heavy: not much you can do to get around that. Some bothies will have local supplies of either, but don't count on it.
As a backup, the lightweight, compact fire logs you can buy at most petrol stations burn for about 2 hours. You can also use them to start a more traditional fire.
A handful of kindling, at least, if you don't have a fire log.
Fire lighters likewise.
A local newspaper. Or cotton wool balls smothered in Vaseline.
And, finally, the all important cigarette lighter, or box of matches.
Leave whatever you can for others who might not be so smugly well-prepared. Makes for a lighter pack on the way out too. Win-win.
Gloves or Mittens: A Chilly Conundrum
Gloves
Points in favour:
You can play the piano.
You can point at things.
Points against:
Very cold.
Mittens
Points against:
Limited dexterity.
Fashion disaster.
Points in favour
Warm hands.
Conclusion: I'm selling my gloves. Any takers?
INPUT
Five alive.
BOOK: Their Lips Talk of Mischief by Alan Warner. The Guardian called the book "Rhapsodic evocations of the pub-centred gestalt" and who am I to argue? (Or even understand what the heck that means...) But it was an entertaining companion to fireside nights.
PIE: David Willan, Oxenholme Railway Station. I'm duty bound to give these guys a mention, not only because their pies are fabulous, but because his mum was in and made me promise that I'd tell all my London mates about David's shop. I fully expected to be "Lake Districted" for a pre-train supper (I'd earlier been strong-armed to the tune of £7 for a baked potato in Grasmere). I thought I'd misheard when David said his hot steak pie was £2.
ADVENTURE: The Mountain Bothy Association (and Stuart in particular) for keeping Mosedale Cottage in superb nick for cold hikers. Also the YHA Ambleside and the National Trust. I am confirmed that winter is the greatest time of year to see the Lake District.
BREATHING: On the eve of my tramp, I partook of Psychedelic Breathwork in Finsbury Old Town Hall. It took until the top of Orrest Head before my muscle cramps recovered.
COMEDY: Series 3 of The Detectorists came to an end. Splendid work, and proves that good British comedy can survive longer than the Fawlty Towers mythical two serieses.
OUTPUT
Fortune favours the Dave.
Dave's Books of the Year 2017 (December)
Learning Arabic from a Syrian wanted by ISIS (December)
Tomsleibhe, Isle of Mull (November)
Meditations on Meditations: Praise & Service, Core Beliefs, Adversity, Love, Change, Retreat, Indignation, Contentment (October, November)
"No one ever died while breathing". Psychedelic Breathwork with Alchemy of Breath (October)
COMING UP...
CHRISTMAS! And perhaps a song from Abandoned Rugs... Finishing it off tonight :)
Time now for a suitably hospitable Christmas message from MARGE:
The Spartans used to seat their guests out of the sun at all public spectacles, and themselves sat where they could. (Meditations 11:24)
NOTE: In our frozen land this might come across as pretty rude, but presumably in the hot climes of Ancient Greece the best seats were in the shade.
May you always seat your guests in the shade / sun depending on the prevailing weather conditions (and probably next to the radiator).
Happy Christmas!
- dc
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