Day 1: Storms, Shops, and Stone Arthur
The start of my second Lakes trip this year. It was impromptu in the sense that I only booked it a week and a half ago. I left home at 7:15 with the intention of grabbing a parkrun in Stoke (Hanley). Naturally, it was cancelled thanks to the high winds of Storm Amy. Fair enough — running through flying branches didn’t sound appealing anyway. Not much time lost, but a bit disappointing as I’ll now have to go somewhere else for a second “H”, or come back to Hanley on another day.
By late morning I rolled into Ambleside, ready for some retail therapy. Gaynor Sports, obviously. I’d planned to browse, but somehow left with new leather boots. Well, to be honest, I only went there because I wanted new boots. Anyway, leather ones as a result of telling the assistant about my August misadventures on Armboth Fell. Expensive, but I’m worth it.
Stone Arthur
So, what do you do with new boots? You climb a hill, obviously. And since one purpose of this trip was to catch up with Ami’s Wainwright total (she’s twelve ahead), Stone Arthur seemed a perfect choice. She and Kas had done it back in 2021 when we stayed in Grasmere, and it was conveniently on my way towards Glenridding, sort of, if you ignore the Kirkstone Pass. Anyway, I’m not allowed to walk any Wainwrights that Ami hasn’t, at least for now, so going to new ones was a no-no.
The climb from the main road in Grasmere is short but lively — about 400 metres of ascent, with enough wind to make it “character building.” The new boots performed magnificently. Not once did I feel like I might be blown off the hill, or that my toes would take flight independently. And in comparison to Armboth, they are properly waterproof, which was useful given that the weekend rain meant that much of the path was now a stream.
Up Top
Stone Arthur (503 m) is a craggy little outlier of Great Rigg. Its summit is a rocky knuckle perched above Grasmere village. From the top, the views are much bigger than the hill deserves. Helm Crag and Steel Fell sit opposite, Loughrigg Fell stretches below, and Grasmere peeks out in the distance if the weather allows. Today it was a bit of an eye-strain, but just about visible. The gusts were doing their best to separate me from my hat, and the clouds were auditioning for a horror film. Still, there’s a sense of smug isolation up there, even in a gale. And as a fellow walker said when I asked him what it was like, there’s nothing for you to be blown off at Stone Arthur.
The up-and-down took about two and a half hours — just long enough to test the boots and short enough to dodge hypothermia. By the time I got back to the car, the rain was horizontal, but the smug glow of new leather outweighed the windburn.
Glenridding
The drive north was scenic in a “lean into the gusts” kind of way. I reached Glenridding around 4:30 and immediately discovered the hotel car park was full. The staff optimistically suggested it might clear out after six when the day trippers left. It didn’t. By eight, it became clear that none of the cars were going anywhere. So I retreated to the public pay-and-display over the road.
All night, Storm Amy raged on — windows rattling, gutters humming, and trees performing interpretive dance outside. Inside, though, it was bliss. The room was warm, the bed was comfy, and the hotel bar had both food and beer. The perfect antidote to British weather. Let it blow.
