Adventure Week 5:
Middle Fell, Seatallan, Buckbarrow

Finally resolving to bag as many Lake District "Wainwrights" as possible, I started the hiking endeavour at my favourite parts of the lakes, Wast Water. From here I would spend the day summiting three.

Wainwright's Lakeland Fells

Starting in 1952, Alfred Wainwright began work on his Pictorial Guide to the Lakeland Fells, a seven-part series of books chronicling how best to approach hiking the most notable fells (hills/mountains) of the Lake District. Since publication, the 214 fells included have become known as "Wainwrights", and the act of summitting as many as possible is a type of "peak bagging".

After I first climbed The Old Man of Coniston in 2019, and on two subsequent climbs since, the idea of this challenge has stuck with me. After all, I am drawn to landscape photography, and what better place to be for stunning views?

The idea of trying to bag some Wainwrights came to me several weeks ago when I ascended Whernside, a hill that was taller than I expected. Even while feeling out of shape and dormant as far as exercise goes, I managed with little difficulty, albeit at a steady pace. Could I already be fit enough for Wainwrights? Now was the time to find out. I would start with book seven: The Western Fells, for this encompassed Wast Water and Buttermere, areas I was familiar with and featuring fells I have longed to climb.

A Tall Order

Two weeks ago, I chose Middle Fell, Seatallan, and Buckbarrow as a starting point. The circular route features more ascent than The Old Man of Coniston, so it would prove a challenging day, but if I could succeed, the Lake District would steadily be mine. I arrived at Wast Water at 09:00 to torrential rain that dissuaded me from the attempt. Just as well - the sights of Middle Fell and Buckbarrow above me seemed impossibly tall. This was a fool's errand.

But I resolved to come back and make this work. I would do it on my birthday, Saturday 4th February. Except I had been at a gig the night before, didn't get in until 01:30, and wanted to set off around 06:00 to maximise daylight. The mountain weather forecast reckoned a 30% chance of visibility at 600m. I delayed a day.

Sunday's forecast was sparkling, with clear skies and little breeze. Overnight frost was to be expected. Cool fresh air would help me on my way. Another 06:00 start. By 09:15, I parked up at the base of my hike. Before me, Middle Fell to the right, and Buckbarrow to the left.

I arrived with two other cars and immediately got chatting to the would-be hikers. They were also taking the same route as me. We discussed hiking aspirations. They got into hiking after the first COVID-19 lockdown, as many in the UK did, looking domestically for travel and leisure. I told them of my plans to check off some Wainwrights and make a statement for myself.

With fluids and lunch packed, hiking boots on, more layers than I needed, and crucially, hiking poles that until Friday I had considered lost, it was time to begin.

The Wall

A large part of my apprehension for this hike was the initial climb. Getting up to Middle Fell would be a relentless uphill climb that accounted for most of the day's ascent. The terrain was not technical - it was merely a steady grassy slope with a clear trail, ascending into rockier switchbacks, but there would be little time to warm up before the realities of hiking set in.

Almost immediately the climb began, and I felt incredibly out of shape. My thighs burned; my lungs gasped for air. The hiking poles took some of the load onto my arms, but in this early stage it only ensured my whole body was unhappy. I stopped frequently. Every time I did, I felt both dizzy and nauseous. When it eventually subsided, I trudged on further.

By the time I got to a split in the path, the true beginning of the ascent, I was a mess. I sat on a rock and wondered why I was here, why I was subjecting myself to this torture. My every thought was of turning back, of accepting it could not be done, and I had at least tried. Once I felt well enough, I tried again, one small section at a time.

Half-way up the relentless grassy incline, I could take it no more. I was making little progress each time and having to stop much longer than I wanted. I had made it to 150m, but the summit was 582m. I had been passed by multiple hikers. The ones I started with had long since vanished above. Stood without seating, I descended briefly to the closest rock to sit on. All the acceptance of defeat rushed over me. This would be as far as I would go. Middle Fell would beat me.

I sat for maybe ten minutes before feeling better. Thoughts of persevering returned. Even if I didn't reach the summit, I could be proud to have gotten further. Back up I went.

As I did, views across Nether Wasdale to the south-west emerged, eventually all the way to Ravenglass and the Irish Sea beyond. To the north-east, Scafell Pike began to come into view. Surely the view from higher up would be better. I would have to drag myself up there to find out!

The terrain became rockier, but the trail no less defined. I passed my first herdys of the day and enjoyed views across the Wastwater Screes. The ascent let up.

Pride on Middle Fell

Suddenly, a rocky summit appeared before me. I could not believe it. In this moment I was beyond ecstatic and felt immense pride in myself. I had been defeated, but now, here I was, the summit of Middle Fell. I could do it!

The rewards were bountiful. A stunning view of Yewbarrow and Wasdale Head, with the Scafell complex at its most dramatic angle.

While the middle of Wast Water was obscured from here, peach winter skies above Illgill Head were an odd sight at 11:00, but certainly welcome.

After the high wore off, I found a rocky outcrop overlooking Wasdale Head and sat down for an early lunch. I planned to stop on Seatallan for lunch, but I would take a rest here too after the hardship. A sausage roll and bag of Monster Munch would perk me back up.

Once back on my feet, I made conversation with two older hikes that had arrived after me with their two Cocker Spaniels. They were from nearby Gosforth and had already bagged every Wainwright. I asked for advice on traversing Yewbarrow, having been eyeing up the ascent - not for the faint-hearted. I was warned that the descent to Stirrup Crag was a bigger challenge. Yewbarrow is part of book seven, so at some point I would be back for Middle Fell's neighbour.

Down and Back Up

Rested and socialised, it was time to descend towards Seatallan. I had spotted the next Wainwright on my way up. It is a smooth mound with no clear geology to aid in hiking it. According to the route, I would simply walk straight towards the summit cairn, right up the hillside. Looking at how steep it got towards the top, this didn't seem possible.

As I descended to the marshy valley below, my concern grew. Two hikers ahead of me made their way up a barely visible brown line that petered into nothing. It was only after soaking my hiking boots in the marsh that I could see the footholds above, rising defiantly between nearby patches of scree. The last 200m of ascent for the day was here.

With each step the task got harder. From a rough trail on a grassy slope to meandering rocks, the physical exertion returned. Then, it was only a steep featureless rise with footholds, each heavily worn. Here I could place my boots and pull myself up.

The sense of height and danger got to me here. It was easy enough to keep my head down and only focus on the next step, but some were sketchier than others, and I made the mistake of turning around when resting. While the view back across Middle Fell and beyond to Scafell Pike was stunning, it did nothing for my confidence.

Eventually I came across two footholds that had collapsed. The dirt here was loose and damp, my confidence equally eroded. I placed my foot but couldn't transfer my weight and put my faith in the spot and its grip. I wrestled with it as my anxiety grew. My hiking poles did little to help - I was more worried that pushing too much on them would send me tumbling backwards. It took minutes before I could move again, and when I did, it was a leap of faith. I took two steps and stopped to catch my breath.

The moment felt like an eternity, but the confidence loss and sudden sense of height left me. Few steep steps remained before it mercilessly began to level out. Suddenly I was amongst a well-grazed grassy plain. Relief, but only once at the cairn beyond.

Lonely Seatallan

Seatallan represented the final heights of the hike - from here it would all be downhill towards Buckbarrow. The exposed summit was windswept, though a windbreak cairn could offer shelter. I touched the trig point, making the effort official.

I wandered the summit for a while, travelling to a nearby cairn overlooking Scoat Fell. Eventually I settled on a rock facing the opposite view - Sellafield nuclear site, the Irish Sea, and much to my surprise and delight, the Isle of Man.

Along to Buckbarrow

I didn't linger on Seatallan long due to the cold winds, so I ended up taking the rest of my lunch with me. Despite it only being 13:00 I was conscious of time, not wanting to be descending in the dark of a short January day.

From here the trail descended the hill consistently towards a cairn barely visible at the bottom. The path was waterlogged and had frozen overnight, so I had some fun poking holes in it with my hiking pole. Child-like glee filled my mind from the high of reaching the highest point and less exertion on the descent.

The cairn soon approached, signalling a left turn towards Buckbarrow. From here only the tops of two of its rocky outcrops were visible. As the path began undulating between boggy depression and grassy mound, a prominent cairn appeared, with two hikers already there taking photos. This isn't the summit of Buckbarrow, rather Glade How. Once reached, the nearby summit cairn of the Wainrwright was spotted, though it was merely a pile of stones.

I only lingered at Buckbarrow's summit for a few moments before seeking a better view. Rocky crags overlook Greendale and Wast Water as a whole, so it was necessary to traverse the criss-crossing trails. I ended up on Pike Crag, looking along Wast Water towards Wasdale Head.

In the other direction, the two hikers from before could be seen atop Long Crag next to me, taking similar photos. The photo below beautifully captures the crags and the day's beautiful orange tones, now amplified as the sun came out around 14:00.

I took my final sit down here, close to the sheer edge of the crag. The view was a fine reward for my efforts so far, much more dramatic than from Seatallan. My expectations for the day had been exceeded.

Descent

Now it was time for the true descent. I have a disdain for hiking descents: it is hard work on knees and ankles and must be undertaken with caution. Low energy levels after all the ups also contribute to a higher likelihood of falling on the way down.

My route down near Greendale Gill starts at an unsighted tall cairn to the north-east, signalling the place to begin descending. If I pick incorrectly, I end up on the wrong side of Tongues Gills and face too steep a descent and certain peril. Fortunately, my map was accurate, and the cairn could be found. From here a faint path guided me down.

A steep descent followed, down through grassy switchbacks, and with no protection from the gill deeper below. My hiking poles worked hard to keep me stable. On several occasions they killed my momentum after a bad step, before I could pick up momentum and stumble.

The sight of a herdy before a ford over one of the gills was welcome. This proved to be the end of the worst of the descent.

From here the trail kept me busy with craggy and technical rocks, tightrope dirt paths cut into the hillside, and muddy slopes. Eventually the slopes let up and revealed the homesteads of Greendale once again, with a clear route past a sheepfold and stone walls pointing my way towards the road.

Relief

Once down the last muddy slope and into the farmer's field, my ankles noted the flat terrain and I rejoiced - I'd made it! My face was flush from cold winds, my body aching from the effort, but I was excited. The afternoon sun appeared across Illgill Head once more, affording me an opportunity to snap a few more gorgeous photos.

A small walk returned me to the car. The grassy car park, spotted as full from Middle Fell, was now empty except for two. I was happy to get out of my boots, change my socks, and prepare for a long drive back home. My body would have to wait a bit longer before completely crashing on me.

Conclusion

Despite mental and physical barriers to early progress up a gruelling slope, I achieved my goal of summitting all three Wainwrights in one day, a feat I am incredibly proud of. Once my body adjusted to the exertion and exhaustion, a pleasant time was had in perfect winter conditions.

The endeavour has shown me that bagging Wainwrights is possible, so I'm excited to return to the Lake District soon for more!

• Distance: 9.05 km
• Max elevation: 692 m
• Total ascent: 725 m
• Time taken, including breaks: 6 hours 20 minutes