Europe > United Kingdom > Lake District > Cumbrian fells > Walking > Articles > Discovering the Missed Hills of your Youth

When I first discovered the Cumbrian fells, in my early teens, I soon became obsessed by peak-bagging. I would venture out under any conditions to add just one more hill, even an insignificant one, to my growing list. Fine weather and a good view were merely bonuses. The summit was the thing. The subsequent decades appear to have softened this passion somewhat, as I now revisit, in some cases many times a year, these scenes of an earlier frantic rush, but at a more leisurely pace, and with an eye to the mountain’s more intrinsic charms, rather than as something to be ticked off. But the passion has not been fully eradicated. I am still delighted to find, while looking over the map, that there are peaks which I have not yet climbed.

One of my earliest hills was Skiddaw. Like most keen beginners, I did the highest ones first. From the long, gradual summit track, I gazed across the desolate quadrant to the east, and resolved to tackle its smooth, grassy humps. Then I lost interest, for the weather was clear and the views over Bassenthwaite and Borrowdale much more insistent.

Over the years, Great Calva would occasionally remind me of its presence, by peering at me from behind the shoulders of Skiddaw and Blencathra, while I was passing Castlerigg or the shores of Thirlmere. But I was either going to or coming from some other mountain. It must, however, have continued beckoning my subconscious, gathering form out of vagueness, until it surfaced, eventually, as a definite intention.

My son and his girlfriend, perhaps reflecting my own priorities at their age, wanted to get away from me and climb Skiddaw, so I left them at the foot of Ullock Pike and headed for the track above Dash Beck. This turned out to be a tarred road, snaking across the hillside fields, changing to a genuine track only where the valley walls began to close in, just short of the waterfall.

Whitewater Dash is not one of the well-known cataracts of Cumbria. Its neglect is a little surprising, for though its fall is not unbroken, it descends a greater distance than most others, and is more accessible than some. Perhaps its open aspect, and the lack of a spectacular gorge or picturesque backdrop have led to its having been overlooked. Best described as pretty rather than grand, it certainly charmed Coleridge, who thought it the finest waterfall he had seen.

Beyond the falls, I abandoned the track for the steep slope of Little Calva. A lizard scurried past my boot and vanished under the crackle-dry stalks of last year’s heather. A tiny incident, lasting no more than a second, it was one of those small, free gifts, which

Higher up I paused to examine the lichens, which grew in abundance. These symbiotic organisms, part plant, part fungus, can thrive under the most extreme climatic conditions, yet wither and die in even lightly polluted air. Here they covered rocks in patches as large as lettuce leaves. Others resembled small bushes, while some were funneled or tipped with scarlet.

I arrived at the summit of Little Calva to the sounds of singing voices. A birthday party for a young girl was in progress. I added my greetings to those of the family and continued on my way.

A long stretch of flat, boggy ground, with a distant view of Thirlmere, ended in the short rise to Great Calva. Again, I was surprised to find that I was not alone. In fact, as I looked around the nearby peaks and slopes, I counted more than a dozen other people, and they did not include the multitude of moving dots on Skiddaw. This was a holiday week¬end, but a few years ago I would not have expected to see this many walkers on hills so isolated. But such is a measure of the increasing popularity of the Cumbrian hills.

Despite the huge bulks of Skiddaw and Blencathra, which occluded most of what might have been visible from here, I was able to see far more than I expected. To the south, the gap between the two giants revealed Thirlmere, Helvellyn and the peaks above Langdale. Beyond the northerly shoulder of Skiddaw lay the Solway and the Galloway hills, while the eastern haze was occupied by the distant Pennines, still fringed with the snow of winter. Great Calva is not quite so recondite as I had imagined.

I retraced my steps for a few hundred yards, then swung to my right, toward Knott. A slight fall, followed by a steady rise brought me to the broad summit. Knott is higher than Great Calva, but far less prominent. It is so extensive and flat that not a lot can be seen to hold the attention. Unable to find my next objective, which hung somewhere beyond the rim of the plateau, I even took a compass bearing to be sure of moving off in the right direction. I cannot recall having done that before in such good weather.

Great Sca Fell bears no resemblance whatever to its namesake. Grassy and rounded, it has little, if anything to distinguish it from the many other similar humps that abound in all directions. From there, I headed west, down to a col and up Meal Fell, then down again, steeply, to a narrow valley, which led me back to Dash Beck.

As I strolled through the warm, sharpening light of the late afternoon, I reflected on the hills I had walked over. Lacking spectacle, they seemed to hide away in humility. Yet they held a subtle charm, which I really should not have left so long before discovering. I felt I would have to visit them again in the near future. But next time, I would explore the valleys, for as with a similar region just south of Ennerdale, I suspect that there is where the real secrets and subtleties might be found.

• More from Anthony Toole
• More on the same theme