Sunset, Sunrise & Solitude on Scafell

We have been waiting all day. Packing and repacking bags, making sure everything is in its right place. This is the trouble with heading out on an adventure late in the day; there is enough time to let doubt creep in, to make changes to plans and to pack extra bits of kit.

There is also time for anxiety to build. Benji is feeling worried; this will be his first wild camp in the mountains. We are anxious too, for everything to be just right. Day time temperatures have been warm, but frost has been forming overnight in the valleys so our packs are bulging with winter sleeping bags and warm clothes in case temperatures plunge after dark. Benji has a small pack with snacks and his waterproofs, but we carry everything else for three between the two of us.

Our plan is to summit Scafell, the second highest peak in England, via Slight Side. We have ventured this way before, the winter before last and made it to the top of Slight Side but the rapidly fading light kept us from pushing on to the snow dusted summit of Scafell. This time we decide to spread the hike over two days, setting off in the evening, walking for an hour or so before setting up camp and then rising early for a sunrise push to the summit the next morning. Partly to make for two shorter, easier hikes rather than one long one, and partly so we can be up at sunrise with a chance at being the only ones on the mountain, but also and perhaps most importantly, to turn a small adventure into a bigger one. We are calling it an expedition. Did we achieve our objectives? Well, yes and no.

A quick note on wild camping: Wild camping is technically prohibited in England, but is largely tolerated in open access areas of the remote uplands provided an unofficial code of conduct is adhered to. Set up camp late, well away from paths and infrastructure, absolutely no fires, pack up early the next day and leave no trace. Sadly there are those who do not adhere to these rules, or are simply unaware that they exist. For us it comes down to respect for the land, and for other users of the countryside with their many and varied interests.

We had forgotten how steep the path leading away from the carpark is. No sooner are we through the first field gate, we feel the weight of our packs become a burden on our leg muscles as we march steadily upwards in the golden early evening light. Despite the slog, gaining height quickly is a blessing; by the time we reach our intended camp spot, we have knocked 350 metres off our total elevation, leaving a good chunk less for us to tackle in the morning.

Studying the map beforehand, an easing of contour lines between two crags suggested a level area perfect for setting up camp. The map does not always marry with reality, but we as we approach our camping spot we are relieved to find it just as good in real life as in our imaginations; level ground covered in soft tussocky purple moor grass at the foot of a crag peppered with rocky outcrops perfect for sitting and cooking on and just a short walk from a little beck which will supply water for cooking and lull us to sleep with its silvery song.

While water boils and our dehydrated meals cook slowly in their pouches, the sun begins to sink behind the mountains. Me and Benji put the tent up together so we are ready to crawl in straight after dinner. We eat in the last of the golden light, comparing tasting notes on our chosen meals. Benji always picks the same; pork and beans, and he gobbles it all down as if it were the most delicious thing he has ever eaten. Me and Emma are less enthusiastic, but they are passable as food and better than they used to be. We have each packed a drink too, and toast to our first night camping together in the mountains.

The temperature dips as soon as the sun disappears behind silhouetted hills, as if a switch has been flicked, and we are glad to have cosy sleeping bags waiting for us. Both Emma and Benji have their winter bags, but I have opted for my summer bag and an ultralight down quilt in order to save weight and pack space, hoping not to freeze.

Benji snuggles into his bag and says “I don’t know why I was worried about this, it’s awesome”. In a matter of minutes he is fast asleep.

Although I am content, and the sleeping bag / quilt combo is working well, sleep does not come for me as easily. Each time I am about to slip into slumber nightly noises pull me back to sleeplessness. A gust of wind in the valley, a strange bird call which I have not heard before (It turned out to be a snipe). The moon is shining bright and I can see as well inside the tent as if it were daylight which is not helping. The whole night passes as if a dream yet I feel as though I haven’t slept a wink. At 5am I drift off for a few blissful minutes before Emma tells me it’s time to get up.

Breakfast is a scant affair in the dark: coffee and squashed croissants, but we are keen to get moving quickly, ahead of anyone else who might be heading up Scafell and ahead of the warmth that will follow sunrise. It is just getting light as we shoulder our packs and head back on the trail but the sun is still below the horizon and the hills black against the pale purple-blue chewing gum coloured sky. The downside of camping halfway dawns on us; we will have to carry our fully loaded packs, tents, sleeping kit and all to the top of the mountain and back. Despite already being several kilometres and 350 metres of elevation into our hike, the summit looks a long way away, but it feels good to be up and out so early in the day, as the sun rises slowly above the hills and colour pours back into the world. I am invigorated by the scene yet tired from the lack of sleep and all feels dreamlike and surreal.

There is not another soul to be seen and although the going is steep we make good progress to the first significant milestone, the summit of Slight Side. It is kind of strange that Slight Side is considered a mountain in its own right, when really it just a rocky outcrop on the way to the top of Scafell. Still, it is an interesting summit with masses of huge boulders to clamber over and it feels good to have come this far so soon. Looking ahead there are two domes of rock before us, like humps on a camel’s back, but with one hump lower than the other. There is still a fair way to go and by now our packs are feeling heavy as we make our way up the first hump. At the top, the landscape suddenly opens up, and an alarmingly jagged scene is revealed below and to the right of us, the toothy grandeur of which catches us off guard. From a distance and on its south westerly aspect, Scafell seems gentle and rolling, but on closer inspection its true wild nature is revealed, gnarled and snarling folds of rock thrust into being by unimaginable forces. We peer gingerly over the near vertical edge into the jaws of the mountain and for the first time get a sense of our elevation.

In the distance we can see a cloud inversion beneath the Coniston fells, like water lapping at the shore of a rugged coastline. I take a compass bearing just in case the way down is suddenly enveloped in cloud - it is easy to see how the inexperienced could come unstuck up here in poor visibility, inadvertently wandering into the abyss.

Finally, our steep scree laden path nears the top of the second hump, the summit of Scafell itself. After a couple of false summit cairns, which test Benji’s patience, we make it to the very top, overjoyed to have the entire mountain to ourselves and fine views of what feels like the entire world before us. The solitude allows us to linger a while at the summit, reclining lazily on uncomfortable armchairs of rock. Soon we realise that we have not just the distance back to last night’s campsite to cover, but also the distance from the day before. We re-shoulder our packs and get moving.

The way back down is pretty hard going, the dusty scree gives way easily under our heavily laden legs, an old knee injury resurfaces and by now the sun is warm and we are hungry; any energy from our meagre breakfast long exhausted. Soon though, we can see the spot where we camped and know there is not much further to go; we flop down the last 350 metres of descent, stumbling and tripping a little occasionally until we reach the car, tired but happy, slip off our hiking boots and head home for a second breakfast.

So, did splitting our hike over two days make it any easier? No. Did we get the mountain to ourselves? Yes. Did we turn our small adventure into a bigger one that we’ll always remember? Absolutely…