A two day walk from Ravenglass to Silecroft, over Muncaster Fell and then past Devoke Water, following the line of quiet hills southwards towards Black Combe and the sea.
Day 1 – 20th May 2022
Following the success of my recent walk along the length of High Street, I decided to try another linear walk using public transport. I chose the line of lower hills that fringe the south west of the Lake District, as the forecast wasn’t the best. This walk makes use of public transport – the Cumbrian Coast railway line – and I caught a train that ran straight through from Grange-over-Sands, disembarking at Ravenglass a few minutes after midday.
I had to walk along roads for the best part of a mile before I reached leafy Fell Lane, which leads pleasantly up onto Muncaster Fell, but at least there was a roadside path, and it wasn’t long before I escaped the traffic. Fell Lane was delightful, birds singing, a multitude of spring flowers, and everything was just so green! The lane climbs steadily but easily up to Muncaster Tarn, a tranquil spot.
The track led through trees onto the open fellside, and a short climb took me to the summit of Muncaster Fell. The higher fells were shrouded by cloud, vindicating my decision to stay low.
There were a few people about on the summit, and someone relaxing in a sheltered spot a short distance below – I apologised for disturbing them as I walked past. There were also a lot of rhododendrons spreading across on the fell, gaudy things that are completely out of place, and an ecological disaster as they out-compete the native flora, eventually forming an impenetrable poisonous blanket over the ground.
Muncaster Fell is composed almost entirely of granite, a rock that seems to encourage the formation of bog, as I found to my cost as I squelched my way along the broad ridge, at times almost going around in circles to avoid the worst of it. This rather took the shine off what would otherwise have been a most enjoyable walk, but the track improved as I descended towards Eskdale.
I came to La’al Ratty, the Eskdale Railway. A sign by the kissing gate guarding the track implored me to listen before crossing, so I did, and my ears detected the faint sound of ‘chuffing’. Right on cue, a steam locomotive, the “River Mite”, came around the corner just as I was getting my camera out – perfect timing. A short walk down a narrow lane took me to the King George IV Inn, where I stopped for a break as it had started to rain.
The rain eased and I continued on my way, crossing the River Esk, which at this stage on its journey to the sea had lost some of its mountain vigour and meandered placidly between shingle banks.
My plan was to climb up to Devoke Water via a zig zagging track that I had spotted on the map; this wound its way up Brantrake. The track was well engineered, with substantial stone revetments, but it appears to be very lightly used, perhaps because it peters out in a bog once it has reached the plateau above. I took my time on the track, slow and steady does it, enjoying the expanding view of Eskdale below.
Once the hard work was done, I was faced with the unappealing prospect of crossing Brantrake Moss, but I discovered a faint path that skirted the worst of the bog before traversing around the western flank of Water Crag towards Devoke Water. I lost the path, but it was easy to make my way down the rough grassy slopes to the shore, with gravity on my side.
My plan was to climb the hillside to the south and camp on Yoadcastle, where I had been told there was a small tarn not marked on the OS map, a reliable water source despite being tiny. But the clouds were down and the weather was worsening, so I topped up my water bottles in anticipation of a change of plan. Two families of Canada Geese didn’t seem to mind the weather, though.
I picked my way up the boggy hillside, which steepened as I entered the clouds, and I have to confess that I was running out of steam. I angled too far to the west, distracted by some dramatic rock formations glimpsed through a break in the clouds, and had to climb around some steep ground to get back on track, not quite sure exactly where I was.
A distinctive cairn appeared out of the swirling mist – initially I thought that this might be the summit of Yoadcastle, but the ground felt wrong, and there was no sign of the tarn. The map suggested that I might actually be on White Pike. I cast around for somewhere to pitch, but the wind really was whistling in from the south west and I couldn’t find any shelter, so I decided to press on to Yoadcastle, making use of my compass to follow a bearing of 120o as best I could.
I crossed a grassy plateau, and more steep ground loomed out of the mist – this I tackled by means of a grassy gully flanked by some dramatic rock outcrops, heading upwards but angling slightly to the left in an attempt to escape the worst of the wind. The ground levelled off and I spotted another ‘summit’ – again my hopes were raised that I might have finally arrived at Yoadcastle, but the ground fell away too steeply to the north, and where was that wretched tarn? I cast around a bit and studied the map, deciding that I must be on Woodend Heights, from where a short walk southwards would take me to the tarn and Yoadcastle.
And so it proved – never have I been so glad to see such a pitifully small body of water – now I really did know where I was. And, sure enough, the craggy summit of Yoadcastle appeared out of the mist, just a few tens of metres to the south. The ground was rough and boggy near the tarn, but I eventually found a good pitch just to the east of the summit crags, which offered partial shelter from the wind.
I took my time pitching the tent, subduing the flapping flysheet, making sure that the pegs were well driven home, and adjusting the guylines so that they were nice and taut. It was now 7pm, and there appeared to be no chance of a sunset, so I got a welcome brew on and settled in for the night; what a relief to be out of the wind in a tent that I trust. I fell asleep without even bothering to get the book that I had bought with me out of its protective plastic bag.
Day 2 – 21st May 2022
The wind picked up and it rained from time to time during the night, but I got plenty of sleep, sun on the tent and a skylark finally tempting me from my pit just after 8 am, a lie in by any standards. My hopes were high as I brewed up on a convenient rock near the tent – perhaps I would enjoy a decent day on the hill after yesterday’s dismal weather. I broke camp and headed south, following a faint path towards Stainton Pike and Whitfell.
Unfortunately the weather deteriorated as I passed Holehouse Tarn – the clouds descended and the rain started, gentle at first, but persistent. Brighter skies to the west seduced me into delaying the donning of overtrousers, so my legs got quite wet before I eventually did put them on. I struggled up the northern slopes of Whitfell, the path disappearing, and then stopped for a snack and a breather in the shelter of the large summit cairn.
Despite being in the clouds, I knew the way onwards, as I had been this way last year. The path gently descends south westwards before splitting – I took the lower path that traverses across the eastern side of Burn Moor before tackling Buckbarrow. I didn’t bother going up to the highest point in the mist, instead crossing the grassy saddle to the west. The mist started to disperse as I descended easily towards the Corney Fell Road, giving me fine views of the Duddon Estuary and the distant Furness peninsula.
I now had a decision to make – struggle on over rough boggy ground towards Black Combe, or take an easier route down off the hill to Bootle, from where I could catch a train. I decided that it was too early in the day to think about finishing, so I pressed on over the trackless ground beyond the road, the words of HW Tilman in my head – “Strenuousness is the immortal path, Sloth is the way of death.”
Crossing the broad saddle of trackless boggy ground south of the road was tiresome, as was climbing the wet tussocky slopes beyond. I had to hop over three fences, and at one stage my new walking pole disappeared 50 centimetres into the bog – luckily I didn’t! Perhaps I should have fitted the baskets after all. I struggled on, one soggy step after another, and it was with some relief that I reached the crest of the ridge, climbed a stile, and met a path coming up from the east.
The path made for much easier going but I was tiring now, so I stopped for yet another snack before tackling the cloud covered summit slopes of Black Combe. I met a few people, the first since Eskdale – I really had had the hills all to myself.
There was no point in stopping at the summit so I pressed on, descending the well used path to Silecroft. I dropped out of the mist and was rewarded with dramatic views – to my right the ground dropped away towards the West Cumbrian Coast far below – I could see waves crashing onto the shore from my bird’s eye viewpoint, whilst ahead of me I could see across the Duddon Estuary towards Walney Island.
I chatted with a local on the last part of the descent – he was about to retire and wanted to walk the Camino de Santiago so was getting some practice in – judging by the speed with which he caught me up he will have no bother! We went our separate ways and I headed to Silecroft station to buy my ticket back to Grange – I had nearly an hour to wait for my train, but luckily there is a good pub nearby…
Despite the less than ideal weather I found this walk very satisfying, following a line of lesser known hills towards the sea, hardly seeing a soul on the way and saving the highest point until last. I enjoyed a comfortable wild camp in rough conditions, and I even had to put my navigational skills to the test!
Distance covered was 20 miles in total, roughly 10 miles each day.
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