After watching the Great Mountain Sheep Gather on BBC4 last weekend I was inspired to plan a walk through Great Moss in Upper Eskdale to climb Pen on Esk Buttress, then, after summiting Scafell Pike, gain Sca Fell via the West Wall Traverse and Deep Gill, a walk that was hard to beat. That was until I remembered this walk, a walk that I last completed back in September 2013 and a walk that I'd always wanted to repeat, and with some time off work, there was no better time to plan a revisit.

It's fair to say that the country has been within the grip of a heatwave during the last week, which is kind of unheard of for September, but given how we lost this summer to more unsettled weather than you can shake a stick at, who am I to complain? Although I have to add that while we're all struggling with the heat, signs of autumn are already here with the leaves already starting to fall from the trees, which is a total bizarre combination. The only thing I changed about today's walk from when I walked it ten years ago was to include the summit of Hen Comb, by which time I'd been walking for nearly seven hours in 100% humidity and 29°C heat, where I didn't so much summit Hen Comb as I did stagger to it.

It was pitch black when I left home, and I was lucky enough to witness a lovely sunrise in the eastern skies. Haze was present from the early hours with high-level clouds beyond, which isn't the best combination as it will trap the heat and raise the humidity.

I was the first to arrive at the parking spaces next to the red phone box at Loweswater, and with time to spare, I took my time kitting up while finishing off one of two Lucozade Sports before I performed a final sweep of the boot, extended my walking poles, and locked the car. Other than the odd car passing Loweswater, it was lovely and quiet, with sheep grazing beyond the stone wall and the odd squark from a raven breaking the silence.

From Mellbreak's north top, I dropped into the saddle, where I was met with the slightest of breezes before the short grassy rise onto the summit. I reached the summit in no time and was miffed to find someone had relocated the summit cairn to a rocky knoll about 120 feet south of the actual summit. Visually, there was no comparison as to which was the higher ground.

Still feeling a little miffed, I didn't bother to take a photo. I left the summit and began my descent, capturing this lovely view of Crummock Water shimmering through the haze below. It was also here that I spotted a paddle boarder who I'd last seen entering Crummock Water from the Highpark area of the lake. It seemed they were boarding a lap of the lake, and for a split second, I'd have traded places with them.

Disturbing a large flock of sheep, I crossed Black Beck with a jump before joining the path on the opposite side of the beck. From here, a narrow path flanks Black Beck before passing through Bracken eventually emerging at the footbridge over Scale Beck and Scale Force falls.

Scale Force is one of my favourite waterfalls in the district, and I guess it was here I was able to recompose myself, which included long sips from my bite valve, the contents of which were still cool after leaving my bladder pack in the fridge over-night.

Opting to take a direct ascent on Lingcomb Edge via the flanks of Blea Crag, I left the footpath for a worn trod through heather, and after a very steep ascent, I reached the summit cairn on Blea Crag, where I was surprised to find a solo chap taking in the views. He was the first person I'd seen all morning, and sadly, he didn't seem up for conversation, leaving with just a 'hi' as I approached the cairn.

This was probably best because the steep pull on Blea Crag had taken it out of me, and to state the obvious, I wasn't up for polite conversation either; in fact, that last ascent had beaten me up and left me with a bloodied lip. The rising heat and humidity were starting to get the better of me.

Even on long walks I rarely stop to eat, especially if I'm walking alone, but I had to stop twice during the ascent of Red Pike, where the heat and humidity continued to get the better of me, leaving me with a total lack of energy and, not to mention, willpower. By now I was soaked through, and through sheer sweat, I struggled to grip the handles of my poles, which had left a blister in the palm of my right hand. I rarely feel beaten, but during the ascent I was talking myself out of completing the route and instead finding the quickest way back to Loweswater.

My morale was taking a beating. Gathering myself as I shouldered the summit, I found a young lass smothering herself in sun tan lotion wearing nothing but a vest and shorts. I passed on a 'hi' trying not to look as dishevelled as I felt inside. Another woman, slightly older, and her dog arrived from Bleaberry Tarn and slumped into the deserted stone shelter. I make my way over to the grassy egde, de-shouldered my pack over looking two shirtless lads eating their lunch below, and more 'hi's are shared.

My heart rate returns to normal as I drink half the contents of the second Lucozade bottle before breaking out lunch. I needed fuel. Lunch came in the form of roast beef and mustard on grannery bread, a favourite of mine that I struggled to digest, so I ate it in small bites and washed it down with the rest of the Lucozade, an Ibuprofen tablet, and half a dozen fruit pastels. Before I re-shouldered, I would continue to take in the views despite the haze and heat. With the wind back in my sails talking myself out of the walk was now just memories.

I generally felt that eating lunch had given me the kick up the arse that I needed. From my lunch spot, I had watched two walkers on Lingcomb Edge who I passed during our descents and ascents. I was keeping myself to myself because we were on separate paths, but I got a 'hi' from the chap, who, as it turned out, was American.

The heat was never mentioned, but we did share our routes, explaining that he had come up from the town of Buttermere below. I didn't bother to correct him; in fact, I had only admiration for anyone from another country who comes here to walk the Lakeland fells.

The heat bore down, and no sooner had I begun my ascent, my stride began to narrow, and I found myself sipping at the dregs of my bladder pack. Feeling determined, I pressed on, only to come to a stop as I chatted with a young lad descending the summit, whose next summit would be Gavel Fell. He was shirtless, and the sun had turned his torso red and raw; it looked painful. He explained he was going onto Gavel, Blake, and Burnbank Fell before returning to his tent at Loweswater. We chatted for a few more minutes, and the lad seemed impressed by my route, which I toned down after telling him how much the heat had affected me. We agreed that the heat sapped at energy levels before bidding one another to enjoy the rest of our walks.

Next, I was joined by a young girl who made her way to the summit whose step seemed to have a stagger to it. I passed on a 'hi' and she smiled and said that it was "too hot" I asked where she had come from, and she replied Loweswater. Not wanting to take pleasure from this girl who was half my age but clearly suffering with the heat, I left, and I stopped beating myself up over my performance. Young or old, the heat will drain at your energy levels.

As I began my descent towards Mosedale Beck the whaleback of Mellbreak dominated my view. In the heat of the afternoon I spotted no one in ascent or descent. It was here that I received a phone call from Paula, my wife, to ask how I was getting on and what time I would get home. Right at that point, two RAF jets thundered through the Buttermere valley, followed by two booms, and I lost what Paula had to say. Following on, I explained I'd be home around 6pm but I was still twenty odd minutes from the car. I slid my mobile back into its protective case and placed it into the lid pocket of my pack. I could hear Mosedale Beck gurgling below, and despite being so close to the car, I couldn't wait to throw cupped hands of water over my face.

Watched on by two elderly walkers, I took great delight in dousing my face in the water, which, unsurprisingly, was luke warm. I rinsed my buff in the beck too and used it to pat my face down, and while ascending the adjoining river bank, I placed the buff across my scorched neck. It felt blissful. I had caught up with the two elderly walkers who held the gate for me as I joined the walled track towards Kirkgate Farm. "It's a bit warm for walking" one chuckled, realising that there was some truth in this I replied, "It almost got the better of me"