I was sat outside Foxfield Station in slightly damp conditions last Wednesday afternoon, awaiting the arrival of Denis who was enduring the hardships of rail travel in order to take part in this extraordinary annual training event – a bit of a daunder. This year’s Daunder was to be an assault on the some of the fells of the SW Lake District.
The wind was blowing a hooley and it was raining, the omens weren’t good. If it carried on like this we might get wet…and that would never do.
We whisked Denis off to the pub and our training commenced. The very excellent Newfield Inn is just down the road from Turner Hall Campsite (purveyors of fine eggs, amongst other things) in Seathwaite, Dunnerdale. Those of you who know Denis will understand that he didn’t take too much convincing to start training at this early hour, but it needed to be done. Hydration procedures commenced, as did a great deal of gabbing. And eating. It wasn’t long before the rest of the Daunderers arrived, all looking soggy & windswept – but cheerful and optimistic. No sporks had been lost or broken – although one of Alan’s tent-poles had suffered a terminal injury in the high winds. Fortunately Morpeth was able to come the rescue, lending Alan the splice-pole from his Akto. It was wonderful to catch up with everyone and before long we had gelled back into the familiar group of friends that only manage to meet up once or twice a year.
After a slightly breezy night (ahem), the morning dawned and the bleary-eyed Daunderers assembled themselves into some sort of order. Some had maps – quite possibly the correct map for the area. Phil most definitely had the correct map – a flashy Harvey’s map, he wasn’t about to get lost!
The team set-off from the campsite in bright sunshine but a rest stop was called for after little more than half an hour, sleep hadn’t come easily during the previous night – high winds and heavy rain saw to that, all were rather tired.
Rest stop No1 Suitably rested, the team set off and were soon above the, er, snowline. We had to be careful.
More breaks followed, this was an exhausting walk and rests were important. Eventually a fine lunch spot was found where butties could be scoffed and tea quaffed:
Scoff & Quaff spotOur pace needed to be regulated so more breaks needed to be endured. Gerry, our time-keeper, was a hard taskmaster – if our progress became too enthusiastic it was his responsibility to slow us down. This he did most effectively:
See Nowt, Hear Nowt and Say NowtA re-route was called for (we were tired…did I mention that?) and someone made the executive decision to go via a pub, The Blacksmith’s Arms….that happened to be shut. Not a good choice.
We stared at the pub door, really hard. We stared through the windows, even harder. Thirsty-type noises were made. We paced around the beer garden. We gazed, glassy-eyed, at one another. We even broke into the Jelly Baby reserves. Nothing worked, the pub door remained firmly shut. We needed A Plan.
The Planning Committee trying to planThe Planning Committee came up with A Plan….Denis, Alan & Phil would keep our places in the queue, whilst the rest of the group would set out to find a suitable camp spot – intending to return later.
This was all very well in theory…..but theory and practice rarely go hand-in-hand, and so it proved to be. The Five Schismers (as we were named) soon split into a further two groups – the search for a suitable camping spot was proving difficult. Andy & Gerry disappeared over a big hill whilst Croydon, Morpeth and I continued to the general area that had been previously ear-marked as a suitable spot to spend the night. Anyroadup, what happened was that we stopped at the appointed camp spot, and very nice it was too. It was too far for us to return to the pub so our on-board supplies had to suffice.
Andy & Gerry pitched Somewhere Else before returning to the pub, then along with Denis, Alan & Phil, camped in a farm field, not too far from the pub. Before they went off to the farm field, soup and beer were consumed in considerable quantity. That’s what they told us – perhaps they were just trying to make us jealous.
We didn’t see the Five Boozers again until the following lunchtime.
Our beerless and soupless pitch for the night, overlooking Morecambe BayAfter spending a very comfortable night, Morpeth, Croydon and I set out to follow the route prescribed by Alan …..it was his Daunder, after all. The ground was generally good, if a little splodgy at times. The wet climb up Whitfell afforded great views – good enough for us to call a lunch stop at the first patch of dry ground, conveniently adjacent to a nice stream. Tea was brewed, soups dished up and views were taken in.
Most of the stragglers had also regained the proper route and we didn’t have to wait too long before they caught us up. Our lunch break was extended – the stragglers also dined with us.
Whitfell lunch stopDenis had been forced to re-route, his back was playing merry-hell. The Planning Committee had formulated an alternative route that would still take him to that evening’s camp spot – but missing out all the lumpy bits. As we dined on finest tomato soup, butties, jelly-babies and all manner of other goodies, we spotted a small speck in the distance – it was Denis on his alternative route. We waved but he didn’t wave back.
Daunderers in meerkat modeDevoke Water beckoned, but as our average speed had increased to an unacceptably high level another break was ordered:
Even this break was insufficient, so at Devoke Water a final, and much longer break was enjoyed. Andy even took the opportunity to bathe in the stream – although judge by the cursing I suspect this dunking was involuntary. Sadly I wasn’t quick enough with the camera.
Andy, 2nd R, pre-dunking 
Morpeth just chillin’
Once Andy had dried his damp bits the group set off as one. The group wasn’t yet complete – we hadn’t caught up with Denis at this point. The view back over Devoke Water was quite stunning, unfortunately the ground didn’t look too good for camping – lumpy, soggy and damp.
The Stanley Ghyll track funnelled us to Birkerthwaite and it was around here the we caught up with Denis. He was chatting to Mr & Mrs Farmer who kindly pointed us in the direction of suitable ground for camping – and the venue for a Cheese & Wine party.
This first sizeable bit of dry ground did the job, within minutes all the tents were up and it was time for a pre-drinkies wash-down. Smelling sweetly, I joined the great unwashed for cheese, wine, and all manner of whiskies and sloe-gin concoctions.
Cheese & Wine party in full swing As the evening wore on, the scene became quite rosy – not sure if that was the evening sunlight, the glow from Sellafield….or the effect of the drink. Whatever, it was agreeable!
Sunset over SellafieldClear skies made for a cold night, a 3am excursion from my tent was quite a shock – everything was frozen. By 8am the sun was well above the hilly horizon and the ice had melted away:
Leaving our overnight stop at just after 9am, we had just a few miles to walk to Base Camp, but this short walk wasn’t without it’s perils – a scary river crossing to rival anything the Challenge could throw at us. But this was a training trip, what could we expect?
Lord Elpus, camera at the ready….just in case
Anyway, nobody fell in – not even Andy. Back at the campsite we removed smelly boots and other smelly stuff and drove to the pub to complete our training.
Eating real food, drinking real beer, whilst sat on real chairs at a real table….luxury!It was a cracking little trip with very good mates, mates you can rely on in a sticky situation….like they wouldn’t laugh at you if you fell into a river. Well not too much.
This is sort of where we went:
Image nicked from Alan.
It wasn’t very far or very hard, but it was a huge amount of fun. The route was in an area that was new to me, well off the tourist track. I’ll be going back to spend more time there, it was good.
Thanks for letting me share the trip with you all, you’re a grand bunch!
More photos are here.
Pre-walk address
Unusual in that it’s petrol-driven 
An old Fordson
