Skiddaw Solitude: A Carer’s Wild Dash to the Northern Fells
The Lake District’s northern fells have a way of pulling you in, don’t they? We usually go on adventures as a family to Gill Head Farm, staying in the camping pods. I’m just back myself from two nights at Gill Head Farm between Keswick and Penrith, courtesy of that Short Breaks win from Helensburgh & Lomond Carers SCIO.
One moment, you’re knee-deep in the chaos of family life ~ non-verbal conversations with a 19-year-old son who navigates the world on his own silent terms as I work out with my wife, his activities with his disabled older brother, and the next, you’re alone on Skiddaw’s vast dome, the autumn sun shining away the noise like a reset button. That’s the gift of a rare escape, courtesy of a Short Breaks award that finally gave this carer a green light to breathe. Two nights in Keswick, and my first on my own adventure in many years. A gritty trail hike-run up Skiddaw that clocked 19km and over 1,000m of ascent in four-and-a-half hours of raw, rewarding graft. The sense of freedom was exhilarating.
I started the orthodox way, lacing up from the busy Brundholme Road (NY 26771 24112) at the foot of the Cumbria Way. This long-distance path, stitching through the Borrowdale Valley, is a hiker’s dream on a good day, and I loved it, gentle gradients giving way to heather-strewn slopes that funnel you towards Skiddaw South Top.
But I was not here for the stroll; old habits from my days as a Ramblers hiking leader kicked in early. Up here, it all fades into focus. The trail winds northwest, past gnarled oaks clinging to rocky outcrops, the air thick with that peaty scent of damp earth and bracken. By the time I crested a broad plateau at Applethwaite 658 m (NY 27674 26974) towards Skiddaw Little Man (NY 26675 27793) at —the views began to unfold like a well, my trusty OS Explorer map: Bassenthwaite Lake glinting silver below, the Solway Firth a hazy smudge on the horizon, and the curved profile of Blencathra teasing from the east. The beauty of the surroundings was truly awe-inspiring.
Skiddaw stands as the grand finale, its 931m summit a broad, stony plateau where the wind makes it a touch chilly. I reached it purposefully going past Skiddaw South Top (NY 26044 28624), poles in hand, lungs burning, but the reward? Stunning panoramic views. To the south, Derwentwater’s winding curves twist beneath the watchful eye of Catbells; to the west, a future adventure for sure, the view is equally breathtaking. It’s the kind of sight that makes you stop, hands on your knees, and remember why we seek these heights, both literal and metaphorical. I thought of home many times during the climb, feeling guilty for not being there to monitor seizures, no flare-ups to manage or lunches to be made; I wiped my tears and kept going, breathing rhythmically and staying calm.
As I climbed, I looked up at the Little Man cairn (865m) and noticed Skiddaw in the distance. Suddenly, a loud noise thundered overhead, startling me—like an Apache helicopter or something similar—as it curved around Skiddaw. I tried to take a picture with my phone, but it only appeared as a dot in the sky.
The descent, I went down to 840 meters , though—that’s where the adventure turned rogue. Most folk stick to the tourist track’s steady zigzags, a safe bet for knees and ankles. Not me. My old hiking leader instincts, I veered off-piste, picking a sharper line through the heather, where I saw a landrover trail on the map, dropping fast towards the Sale How Summit at 666m (NY 27617 28636).
I pressed on, pounding past a very quiet youth hostel called Skiddaw House (NY 28729 29101) where further down the trail I met a bunch of wide-eyed teens trudging uphill, their rucksacks looking heavy on them, but they seemed tired.
I came onto the Cumbria Way, but what a mess: the path was a quagmire, ankle-deep in peaty runoff waters from Lonscale Fell, turning every stride into a sloshy battle. Unpleasant? Aye, I was glad of my Drymax socks, which I wore while wading ankle deep in parts. Slips and stumbles had me chuckling through the curses, but I was happy to be away from the crowds.
Then came the jolt: a grouse burst from the heather undergrowth, wings thwacking the air. Heart hammering, I froze, back home on Helensburgh’s trails, it is pheasants that pull that ambush trick, strutting like they own the woods. Here, it was a proper Lakeland welcome, a reminder that these fells play by their own rules. Shaking it off, further down, a final gift: across the gill, I spotted them in the distance—tiny figures perched on boulders at Roughten Gill’s tumbling waterfall. The water roared over slate slabs, carving white foam from the peaty flow, while they sat.
That scene tugged at me, reminding me of my walks and picnics with my wife and family. It didn’t overwhelm me but instead energised me for the final kilometres back to Keswick, beneath the crags of Lonscale Fell. As I looked up, I saw the majestic mountains between Lonscale and Blencathra on either side.
Skirting Lonscale Fell, I eyed Latrigg for a quick detour to its viewpoint (NY 27896 24717). The path meant another wet crossing at Whit Beck (NY 28268 25958), my boots soaked again. The Latrigg climb was steep but short, the viewpoint buzzing with hikers. I descended quickly via Spoonygreen Lane, retracing my steps to the carpark (NY 28086 25330), legs heavy but spirit soaring.
That night, I refuelled at The Round in Keswick with a burger and macaroni, prepping for tomorrow’s Blencathra climb. Skiddaw isn’t for the faint-hearted, especially when life throws curveballs like mine. But for carers, adventurers, or anyone needing a solo summit to reset, it’s pure gold. The fells don’t judge your struggles; they offer the horizon. Thanks to Helensburgh & Lomond Carers SCIO, this escape was mine. Next time, maybe I’ll bring the boys for a gentler trek to Latrigg’s viewpoint. For now, Skiddaw’s solitude was enough.
Peter’s Strava log: www.strava.com/activities/15902210657.