Day 64: Frodo and Sam and the Coniston Old Man

After an incredibly restful twelve hours of sleep, I rose luxuriously to a day with nothing particular to ‘attend’.  I did intend to take a long walk that day, but other than that it was lovely that time was not of the essence.  As long as we got our walk in before the light came down, we could do what we liked.  So we took our time having breakfast at our sturdy little brown table, and then I took a wander down to the information centre to pick up some suggested walk leaflets.  There were many, and we chose one that would wander “up hill and down dale” towards the Coniston Old Man, a nearby mountain that I suppose reminds one of an old man although due to the cloud and rain it was shrouded in mist and we didn’t see it looking like much of anything, unless it was a squat old man with a heavy white beard.   

The first half hour or so was on a winding road, with cars appearing every once in a while, driving with extreme care so as not to release the full force of the miniature, raging rivers on either side, on us as we walked along.  We appreciated their efforts, and I think we were making almost as good time as they were.  Several times I wondered if we were heading the right way, but we eventually made our way to a gate and a ‘public footpath’ that pointed the way up to the Coniston Old Man.  

It was raining, not heavily, but steadily.  The kind of rain that just goes on and on and on, getting colder and colder as you get wetter and wetter.  It is not mist and it is not a torrent, just water being deliberately emptied from the heavens in a continual stream that seems to have no end.  We started out with our spirits as light as our dry clothing, which predicted the later occurrence of our spirits becoming heavier as our clothing got wetter.  We made it about halfway up the mountain (perhaps further, but we may never know!) until we realised that even our clothes under our rain-jackets were soaked, and my gloves were retaining more water than heat.   

 

Stopping to eat our sandwiches was an effort in and of itself;  we tried unsuccessfully to hide behind large boulders for protection from the driving wind and rain.  After sitting hunched by the boulders eating cold sandwiches and drinking cold water, we emerged from our makeshift hideout to discover that the flatlands were less windy than the hillsides, boulder protection notwithstanding.  Pin pointed out that we were like the intrepid Covenanters, who crossed windy hills and rainy marshlands to worship God when all the local (comfortable and warm) churches were not preaching the Word of God.  We also felt a bit like Frodo and Sam, as my energy levels are lower than Pin’s, so she like Sam encouraged me with cheerful comments and offered to carry my backpack when my strength was failing.  “I can’t carry the ring, Mr Frodo,” said Pin as she strapped on the bag, “but I can carry you!”  She began walking and added, “Actually I don’t think I could carry you very well so I’m just glad to do what I can by carrying this backpack.”  She kept seeing views that reminded her of the Lord of the Rings films – high mountains and misty clouds and gnarled old trees and pouring rain and hidden caves.  We did come across a little cave at the side of a burn, and I tramped through in my wellies (my famous green welly boots that have seen me through so much wet Scottish – and now English – weathers) through the cold burn and thick red leaves to peer into the deep cave with water dripping from the top and sides – the kind of dripping that in very cold weather would become stalagmites in an icy cave.  We both peered in, Pin bravely following me into the rushing burn, but decided instead of sloshing through the cave to carry on up the hill.  

 

After we turned back and the path descended again, we kept our spirits up by locking arms and descending the mountain with cheer, remembering our cosy cottage and dry clothing and hot tea awaiting us.  It does help, when you are soaked to the skin and walking through endless cold rain and wind, to know that there is warmth to come.  We reminded ourselves that the Christian life can be like that – when it gets weary and difficult and cold and miserable, you walk on, remembering that there is warmth and comfort and hope to come.  I noted that the greater difficulty is that the path of the Christian life is ever upwards – whereas we had the option to stop going up and go right back down to the beginning – but oh, the views on the heights!

Walk on!

Walk length:  3 hours