High Raise and Ullscarf in the rain - Summer's over!

It's midday on the 1st of September 2026, the start of meteorological Autumn, and I'm clinging to the trig point at the top of High Raise in a freezing-cold wind that is peppering me with a fine, stinging rain. Yes - after months of blissful sunshine, normal mountain service has been resumed

From the sad perspective of a Wainwright "bagger", High Raise and Ullscarf are awkward targets - unsatisfactory to climb as singletons but not fitting comfortably into other hill groups. I had decided to lump them together as a job lot and tackle them from Stonethwaite. So at 8.30 that morning, I got up early so as to grab the prime spot in front of the iconic telephone box and set off up the path to Greenup Edge in a torrential downpour.

For some reason, I've always found this path hard work - hard on the feet and rather more tiring than you might imagine since the height gain is just 1400 feet over its 2 -3 mile length. I don't think I'm alone in this view - when descending this path I've often noted the dispirited expressions on the faces of oncoming "Coast to Coast" walkers. The final steep ascent behind Lining Crag puts the tin hat on it - somebody needs to take pity on those wretched pilgrims struggling under their heavy packs and provide them with a better set of zig-zags.

The path onward to Low White Stones was new to me and much more civilised than the one I'd just left, but I was now conscious that the wind was picking up as I gained height, and regular brisk showers were sweeping in from the south west. When I finally tapped the cairn on High Raise, I could hardly stand upright, and my tapping finger was turning blue. I pretty much ran back down to Greenup Edge.

Things were better once I started to climb back up to Ullscarf. The wind was behind me now, and where I had previously encountered only a sullen plod through the bogs and confusing outcrops that infest this sodden piece of hillside, there was now a perfectly respectable track. But the final pull onto the ridge leading to the summit was as dispiriting as ever - Ullscarf can't have many fans.

So, eventually the cairn appeared - unmissable, as it must be the only one within a one-mile radius of that exceptionally desolate summit - and I had to think about how I was going to get home. This is where things started to get "interesting".

On previous visits, I've opted to head for Dock Tarn and the ridiculously steep stone "ladder" that drops you directly down to Stonethwaite, but I'd been there recently and didn't fancy a return. Then again, I certainly wasn't going to descend Lining Crag - I'd had quite enough of that on the way up. In the end, I opted for a small adventure and a bid to pioneer a new cross-country route that cut directly down to the Coast to Coast path.

Now, I know what you're thinking - there's no path here precisely because no sensible person would ever think of going this way. The problem is that the valley is fringed with crags, and descending from the gently rounded summit, you may not see these until you fall down them. But I'd taken particular notice of potential obstacles on the way up Greenup Gill and knew that the head of the valley was generally scree and crag-free - I just had to be patient and prepared to add a bit of extra distance by going back on myself.

Things started well, but as soon as I hit the steep ground I found that the diagonal line I'd chosen was intersected by several steep-walled gills. Fortunately I was still high enough up to negotiate these and, well, to cut a long story short, I was eventually able to complete my descent safely on grass. Certainly, it was steep grass that I wouldn't have wanted any steeper, but the risks were offset by the benefits that now became available.

The first benefit was that the views from my balcony seat on the side of the valley were simply epic. Looking towards the head of the valley, the fellside was illuminated by a weird light that made it look as if it were covered by camouflage netting.

Meanwhile, looking in the other direction, Stonethwaite was spectacularly framed between Eagle Crag and Coldbarrow Fell.

The second benefit was that it became clear my descent line would land me in a secret maze of glacial features hidden in the valley bottom. Nobody walking on the main path could have the slightest idea of their existence. When I reached these, I was particularly taken with a long, sinuous ridge that ran steadily downhill. I believe it may have been something called an "esker" - a feature that I gather is formed beneath a melting glacier through a buildup of debris in a meltwater tunnel. It is only revealed when the retreating ice finally disappears. Entranced, I followed this for several hundred yards until it deposited me gently back on the main path. It felt like walking down the back of a scaly dragon. As I recall things this morning, this would have been just to the north of Footmoorgate Gill.

Back at the car, I have to admit I felt pretty tired and sore - the whole adventure had taken me around six hours. But, as they say, "no pain, no gain", and I'd certainly gained some vivid memories.

Here's one final memory gem snapped as I descended alongside Eagle Crag - a tree that appears to have grown into an elegant arch. Spot the trick!

Postscript: Some superficial post-walk research suggests that it is unlikely that my "sinuous ridge" was a genuine esker. It seems more likely that it was an "elongated hummocky moraine". Whatever, it seems that Greenup Gill is a recognised paradise for glaciation enthusiasts - see www.coasttocoast.uk/lake-district/rosthwaite-grasmere/long-crag/ for more information.