The run of winter sunshine for Cumbria and indeed much of the country continues into the New Year, bringing with it cold conditions and wintery hazards, and anyone venturing onto the high fells is to expect strong winds and exposure to prolonged windchill, a small price to pay if you ask me if these are the types of views we are to expect. It had been an earlier-than-early alarm for me, leaving home at 4:20am, which saw me arrive at Troutbeck Bridge at 6:00am, where, would you believe, I grabbed the last parking spot, the rest taken up by camper vans and someone who'd decided to sleep in their car. The reason for the early start is today's walk is quite a biggie, covering nearly thirteen miles, which is unusual for January, but with present conditions I intend to make the most of them. I knew after the early start, and after two and a half hours of ascent I'd probably capture the sunrise from somewhere along the III Bell ridge; the trouble was I had no idea where. Still not quite believing I'd grabbed the last parking spot at such an ungodly hour, I began to kit up, the silence of the morning disturbed by Trout Beck and the wind gusting through the branches of the surrounding woodland. I prayed that the forecasters had got it right predicting wind at valley level around 23 mph and across the summits at 600 meters between 24mph and 37mph, a far cry from the gale-force winds I'd experienced on Skiddaw last weekend.

To get away quickly I put my boots back home, so all I had to do was layer up, add my windproof jacket and shoulder my pack. With my car locked at exactly 6:08am, I passed the camper vans, followed by whoever was asleep under the duvet on the passenger seat of their car, before turning right and crossing the bridge over Trout Beck towards the Troutbeck side of the Garburn Pass (track) My body wasn't feeling it straight away, huffing and puffing minutes into the ascent, but I soon found my groove after passing through the first gate, which was joined onto a lovely cottage whose security light found me as I passed through. The track veered left and continued to rise before I broke away from the woodland, from where views unfolded over Troutbeck illuminated by the Wolf Moon, which shone down like a giant torch. No matter how much I faffed about with my camera, all the photos I'd taken were blurry; the light from the moon was so intense I figured the only way I'd get the perfect shot was to start changing the camera's settings, and I wasn't about to do that in gloved hands and freezing temperatures. It was two and a half hours before sunrise, and I could have actually turned my head torch off due to the light from the moon. It wasn't exactly lighting up the track, but further afield I had no problem finding the contours of the Ill Bell ridge and surrounding summits, but I kept the head torch tilted downwards so I could navigate over the rock-strewn track. Naturally the wind speed started to increase with height gained, and by the time I'd reached a coppice of pines below Garburn Nook, my mind went into overdrive due to the gust blowing through the branches. I started to come up with a plan B should the wind become too much, so I came up with Sour Howes and Sallows and tucked it into the back of my mind. I reached the top of Garburn Pass the pines, and my plan B now forgotten because I already committed right there. Ahead I could define the silhouette of Yoke, and to the east, the slightest crack of deep orange on the low horizon.

After crossing the top of Garburn Pass, I continued north, detouring around the iced puddles, which was a tad frustrating when you're wearing a head torch, as all you can see is a thirty-foot arc of light directly in front of you. The path levelled as I passed Buck Crag to my right, where beyond the horizon was starting to turn a deeper orange, but with the wind and subsequent windchill ramping up, I didn't bother to admire the views; instead, I concentrated on reaching Yoke summit. I got stuck into the ascent, and from the summit shoulder, I turned back for a quick rest and to see what views were unfolding. The oranges, yellows and reds were intertwining, mellowing into one colour, while below I spotted four head torches, one from a fell runner who was gaining ground on me and three from a trio of walkers who were walking towards Yoke having reached the top of Garburn Pass from the Kentmere side.

I turned around and continued my ascent, following the grooved staircase over the shoulder, and after eighty or so yards ahead, the summit cairn came into view. I realise that I had been ascending in top gear, arriving at the summit minus quite a few photos that I should have stopped to take and out of breath. I was overheating, and I decided to organise my clothing and hat, which were skew-whiff and all over the place. Stopping for less than a minute at the cairns saw me go from overheating to freezing, but at least I felt and looked presentable again. I turned around to see the fell runner's dog at the top of the grooved staircase, and the only sign of the fell runner was his head torch bopping from left to right. I'd had my summit time, and he or she deserved theirs, so I moved on.

I managed to summit III Bell with plenty of time to spare; the trouble was it was blowing a hooley with the windchill dial switched to severe. Hanging around for nine minutes wasn't an option until I found shelter behind the most northerly stone pillar. One of two pillars that remain on the summit; the third pillar collapsed some years ago due to weathering and erosion.

I now had shelter, and with my back to the stone pillar, I deshouldered my pack and removed my mini flask for one or two piping hot cups of summer fruits. The wind was howling around the pillar, and with it came a strange comfort that I was fully protected and I had a hot drink inside of me. A minute or so later and the sun rise started to appear.

Ice covered the lower reaches of Scot Rake, and on more than one occasion I had to resort to the rough fell side to get around until I reached a long frozen grass ramp which descended to a gate alongside a sluth at Blue Gill. With less than six feet until I reached the gate, my left boot rolled across the top of a small rock, knocking me off balance, and to counter it, I landed awkwardly, causing a muscle spasm in my left calf, the same kind of spasm you get when you're lying in bed at night and suddenly find yourself on the bedroom ceiling.

I screamed like a six-year-old, followed by a one-legged whince. Such was the contraction of the muscle; my calf had raised itself to the back of my knee and as quickly as it happened, the muscle eased and my calf dropped and I was able, quite painfully to continue.

Despite the aching feet, this was a walk that I didn't want to end, not after experiencing such perfect conditions whilst including High Street in my first walk of 2026. The sun beamed down, and it was an absolute delight to follow Hagg Gill by its frozen riverbank whilst grazing sheep looked on; it was a surreal, poetic few moments. Eventually Hagg Gill continued its flow through the valley whilst I joined the frozen footpath on the east flank of The Tongue, passing more walkers heading into the valley, barely able to lift my head up due to the sun glare to trade a 'morning', squinting anyway. The valley dropped away now as I rounded The Tongue's summit, where I was surprised to count no less than eleven in ascent and two in descent, and more were on their way from Hagg Bridge below. Passing two families, I descended Hall Hill, where I stopped to see if I could see the landslip above Troutbeck Park Farm that has closed Kirkstone Pass, but there was so much woodland I was unable to get a clear view. I crossed Hagg Bridge, at which point my feet thanked me for the smooth tarmac underfoot, and began my walk through the Troutbeck valley proper.

To my right, a trio who appeared to be tourists had let three spaniels go into a nearby field. I wouldn't have minded but they'd opened a farmer's gate to do it, and although the field was empty they had no right to do it. I continued with the sun glaring down when I spotted a pile of hay bales wrapped in plastic sheeting at the top of Ing Lane still and where still a good twenty minutes away. I passed more and more folk heading into the valley and stepped aside at one point to let the farmers Pick-Up pass and I wondered if he'd find the folk who let their dogs run in one of his fields. Truss Lane arrived, and from above it I spotted the odd car through the trees on Kirkstone Pass. I joined Truss Lane and passed a girl in her mid-twenties where a 'Hi' was shared. The lane rose, and I found myself using my poles to help with the incline. My calves ached and were relieved to reach the wooden gate through which I'd pass that straddles the A592 as far as Limefitt Holiday Park. I was astonished to find how many cars were parked on the roadside – dozens and dozens of them stretching a good hundred yards back up the road – and yet despite this, there was hardly anyone about. Squeezing past the parked cars I passed Jesus Church and turned right onto the car park expecting to see chaos but there was two empty spaces at the side of my car so I decided to eat lunch while I defrosted, the cars heater set to full blast.