Wanderers by Kerri Andrews

Author:Kerri Andrews
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Reaktion Books

I HAD NOT HEARD about Harriet Martineau when I first saw the fells of Lakeland in February 2008. I’d been walking in the Yorkshire Dales, gradually building up to more challenging outings, and I had recently climbed Whernside. I thought I knew hills, but the rounded humps of Yorkshire proved to be nothing compared to the sustained majesty I encountered as I drove through the Lakes towards Keswick. I fell in love immediately. I was there to attend a conference on the Lakeland poet Robert Southey, organized by a man I had become friendly with over the previous few months. At the end of the conference Tim invited me to climb a peak with him. Not knowing then that climbing mountains in winter is difficult and dangerous, in my ignorance, I said yes.

Our aim was to climb Great Gable. Gazing in wonder at the map the night before, I enjoyed the feel of the Cumbrian place names on my tongue, and was delighted that we would ascend by Sourmilk Gill. I was less pleased the next morning when I saw how steep the climb would be next to the beck. All romance vanished as the hard reality of climbing nearly 2,625 feet of winter mountain gradually revealed itself. I remember hours of slog, often with Tim waiting in the far distance for me to huff and puff my slow way towards him. On the boulders that make up Great Gable’s summit, Tim disappeared, vanishing ahead on a pathless slope, leaving me feeling suddenly very exposed and afraid. Knowing no other way to proceed, I ambled upwards, relieved to find the top of the mountain was closer than I had feared. It was icy, though, and incredibly slippery. We had no crampons, no ice axes – and I would not have known what to do with them if we had.

The descent was even more frightening than the lonely final climb had been. I opted to slide down the ice on my backside, using my legs for brakes and my arms for emergencies. For a time, I made excellent progress, but without warning, my trousers snagged on a rock. I stood up on the next bit of safe ground to examine the damage. As I felt behind, I realized the seat of my trousers was flapping in the wind, and my underwear was on full view. No matter – we had not seen another soul all day and we were heading down a steep scree run to the mountain pass, where the wind would be calmer. We walked on, Tim leading while I tried to keep some semblance of dignity by keeping my behind behind. I managed moderately well, until the moment we dropped down onto the pass – and emerged into a large group of teenage boys on their Duke of Edinburgh expedition. It was mortifying, but my embarrassment did not last long. Next to me, Tim was pointing out the wonders that surrounded us: Great End, Scafell and Scafell Pike. Wastwater.

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