David and I were meant to walk this route last Friday on my day off but I was needed in work and was asked would I mind I swap the day for the following Monday instead, given that the forecast was for rain and low cloud I thought my boss was doing me a favour which was just what David said when I asked was he OK to walk on Monday instead.

For now we're sticking with the theme of setting off early, fifty minutes before sunrise which meant we'd be leaving with head torches fixed; the night sky just as dark as it had been at midnight, it was great. I've never kitted up using a head torch before and despite having everything at hand I was still left thinking I'd forgotten something. We left the car park under the moonlight and made our way towards the Troutbeck side of Garburn Road (Pass)

Incredibly the only person we had seen was the fell runner who we just caught a glimpse of as he descended Scott's Rake back into the Troutbeck valley "be nice to be as fit as that" David said...thinking about it, you were, we both were and we're still at it, Rod included.

We had stopped for a quick refuel at High Street which included a couple of cup fulls of hot Vimto from my flask. I hadn't ate or drank anything since breakfast and it went down a treat. We left High Street taking in the views over the III Bell Ridge which looked dark and menacing, Yoke looked so far away in the fading light.

We crossed the frozen ground passing over the head of Hayeswater Gill where I mentioned about a direct ascent on High Street summit, David looked at me like I was mad, "crazy steep" or words to that effect looking back, I silently agreed. The frozen ground was a pleasure to walk on my boots collecting frost around eyelets but remaining dry all the time. We left the frozen grass behind and joined the highway towards Thornthwaite Crag the soles of our boots making a crunching sound over thousands of tiny frozen stones underfoot. What a delight.

Our boots had taken a soaking reaching Trouteck Tongue summit but it was more than worth it seeing the view over the Troutbeck Valley. The temperature was hovering around zero degree's but it felt mild enough to remove hats and gloves as I dug into a plougmans sandwich in one hand and a cup of hot summer fruits in the other while David polished off a slice of Soreen fruit loaf. Fed and watered we packed up and began to make the steep descent by which time the ground had thawed into mud causing the odd acrobatics.

We heard a fighter jet and caught sight of two F-18's approaching from Ambleside both the jets left wings pointing towards the valley floor so slow they looked like they'd stall. The pair squared off as the first jet passed tipping its wings left then right and like a school kid I looked at David with "did you see that" I don't think David was as impressed joking that they'll come back for 'the next bomb run" Ten minutes later David was right the F-18's returned and this time both jets tipped their wings and I was smirking like a kid again.

We dropped into the valley watching the last of the sunlight reflect off Trout Beck below as it snaked through the valley. Windermere disappeared behind the tree line when we passed a couple, no doubt heading for Troutbeck Tongue, only the third walkers we'd seen in nearly seven hours. We reached the valley floor proper and joined Ing Lane, where we passed another couple and their Dalamation who looked quizically through a gate towards sheep in a nearby field. It was comical to see the dogs reaction who might as well have been looking at aliens such the expression across its face. We were on the march back to Church Bridge, both recalling the many highs of the day and agreeing that setting off under darkness was high up there, and we agreed we'd planned to do it again. With Ing Lane behind us, I took one last look back at the III Bell Ridge, which looked as menacing as previously, but this was overlooked by the sound of the rut from the steep slopes below III Bell. We scoured the fellside but couldn't spot the deer. We left Ing Lane for Truss Lane, from where we could hear the traffic on the A592 travelling above our heads. 

Over my right shoulder, I spotted the wall that divided the woodland above Truss Lane from the road; we were five minutes off yet. My walking poles stabbed at the leave-lined track, and five minutes later we had reached the roadside. Instead of following the road back to Church Bridge, we crossed the A592 Mortal Man bound, which soon appeared on our right, its windows lit in soft glow. As inviting as the pub looked, we turned left at the crossroads and followed what we thought might have been an old track that used to serve the parishioners of Troutbeck. We could see Trout Beck flowing below to our right where two tourists were swilling their boots out. Leaving the track, we entered the churchyard via a sixteenth-century Lynch Gate at exactly 14:10pm, timing our walk at seven hours and ten minutes. Arriving back at the car park, I was pleased to see that all my tyres were still inflated after the low pressure tyre warning appeared during my drive-up this morning. I walked around my car feeling thankful that all four corners were solid. We may not have had the promised sunshine, but setting off with the head torches and witnessing first light on our surrounding fells had a glorious affect on me.