David had offered to carry my pack, and although I was highly thankful, I think the pack was actually helping to keep my back ridged, which helped heaps with the final stony descent. The overdue sunshine was warm and views were clear, which could have easily been mistaken for a typical summers day, more so as I was beginning to overheat after doubling up on layers ready for the -5°C wind chills that never came. David stopped to remove his gaitors, the only gear I know he loathes wearing. We passed the impressive static boulders, stopping to admire the largest defying gravity on the moderate slope. Through the trees we spotted cars parked at Armboth car park, most of which had canoes or kayaks fastened to their roofs. We all agreed we were sure sailing, or for that matter, swimming, was forbidden at Thirlmere.
We reached the tarmac with heavy, sodden boots, but at least we could lose layers or, in my case, zip down because, as usual, I'm too stubborn to stop. We still had a two-mile walk back to Turnip Corner, and we enjoyed the views while pulling into single file to allow the odd car to pass, always thanked by the drivers. The road was popular with cyclists too, which prompted me to wonder why I'd never circuited Thirlmere on my mountain bike, probably because I prefer to walk. Raven Crag came into view, which on any given day could be mistaken for a mini version of El Captan—its cliffs vertical and unforgiving. We joined the dam at the same time as a trio of walkers, two guys and a woman who we tailed until they stopped to take photographs of Thirlmere before being passed by two couples walking their dogs. The A591 was close now, the traffic travelling along it breaking the silence instantly bringing us all to reality as we stood on the edge of the white lines while waiting for a break in the traffic. |
