Returning from a trip to Madrid, Chris stopped through northern England for a couple of days. We met in Eskdale, a rocky valley that reaches from the tidal flats of the coastline into the craggy formations of the Lake District. To reach the meeting point, Kelly and I had caught a series of trains to arrive in Eskdale, and the final leg of travel up the valley was on a spur of mining rail that had been converted to carrying steam-powered passenger trains. The car-free access afforded by this train into a quiet section of the Lakes had formed the basis for the trip, and while we knew that it would be a narrow-gauge mining rail that we'd take, we were unprepared for such tiny rail carriages. Kelly experienced a total meltdown of hilarity, then expressed some concern that there wouldn't be room for our bags. It was a spectacular ride in a open-air car, with the white pillar of steam from the locomotive lingering in the brilliant green foliage above.
Once reunited with Chris in Eskdale, we left our gear in the trusty Hex tent, watched a game of rugby over some pizzas, and drank delicious warm, flat pints at The Woolpack.
We woke and began our ascent of Scafell, the lonely sister peak to England's highest. The upper reaches of the mountain were enshrouded in thick fog, and we spent a few minutes mistakenly congratulating each other and eating a summit snack a couple hundred meters from the actual summit. The mountain had quite distinct faces: we ascended broad peat slopes, rich with ferns and spotted with lakes, and descended a glacial valley marked by bare slopes of shattered rock. In a long descent, we avoided the mire of the 'Great Moss', skirted some house-sized boulders, and took advantage of a great stone bridge. We caught a train back to Leeds and bid Chris farewell.
