Fell walking: a chance to laugh and decompress

On the face of it, Jack Kerouac and I have very little in common. Mr Kerouac is the revered 20th-century writer of such seminal works as
On the Road, while I am a middle-aged orthopaedic surgeon, modifying shoulders and elbows in the North of England, struggling to write a coherent note to the milkman. There is, however, one point Jack and I agree on. “Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain” is a quote commonly attributed to Kerouac (although it’s not actually by him). The sentiment, however, is one I agree with, albeit in perhaps a more literal sense than intended. 

The mountains I’m referring to are those in the Lake District National Park. Growing up in Yorkshire and having Lancastrian relatives, trips to the Lake District were relatively common. However, growing up in a 1970s Asian household meant that scaling mountains was not a pastime that came naturally. Trips then largely involved sitting on a bench or a boat, enjoying an ice-cream in front of the splendid scenery. As the years rolled on, these trips became less about copious ice-cream consumption and, spurred on by my more adventurous friends, more about walking in the mountains, enjoying the spectacular expansive views, the fresh air of high altitude and the sense of achievement that scaling mountain peaks brings.

A sense of peace and serenity 

Times have changed and I now have three teenage daughters. But in their younger years, when my surgical training was still in progress, life was hectic. There was always a school run to make and a club that a child needed taking to. Life gets so hectic that the time we have for ourselves becomes stunted and the activities that we once made time for are forfeited in pursuit of the Holy Grail of good parenting. 

But then gradually life reaches an even keel. Children grow and mature. Car boots lose their cargo of pushchairs and booster seats and, for us, this was the case in 2017. With some trepidation, my wife and I decided that we should try to enjoy a walk in the Cumbrian mountains with our daughters aged five, seven and nine. We made a big deal of the expedition, encouraging them to stomp around the house in their shiny, new walking boots to break them in. Loading up our bags with Haribo – or “mountain fuel” as we called it – we encouraged them to come and conquer The Old Man of Coniston with us. To our daughters’ credit, with little whingeing and jacked up on Starmix, this is what they did. The experience was talked about for weeks and, since then, the feat has been repeated in various parts of the Lake District. Interestingly, even while an the expedition’s average age increases, the amount of mountain fuel needed by the most junior participants doesn’t seem to decrease. 

That first trip back out into the mountains with my family made a huge impression on me. It brought back the sense of enjoyment I had felt years before and also brought a feeling of peace and serenity that I still cherish to this day. 

Going solo 

As the years have gone by, both my family and my career have matured. In 2017, I had been in consultant practice for a few years. Naturally, my workload had increased over that period. Not only were the cases I was dealing with increasingly complex, but the challenges and stresses that administrative roles bring were also piled on top. Being both an educational supervisor for my trainees and a lecturer for local medical schools meant there was always a lesson or a case to plan, a portfolio to review or some reflection to work on. Somewhat fortuitously, though, my schedule meant that there was the possibility of taking some time at the end of the week to leave behind the workplace and head out into the mountains to think these challenges through. The patience and understanding of my wife meant that the idea of walking in the Cumbrian mountains alone matured from an idea to a reality. 

The mountains of the Lake District are renowned for their beauty and have inspired artists and poets for centuries. Even their names hold their own beauty, coming from the names given to them by 10th-century Norse invaders. Although these invaders have left the region, the beauty of their language remains and so the mountains of the regions take on the name “fells,” a stone’s throw away from their Norse name “fjallr”. Although there are numerous routes one can take in the fells, hikers tend to follow the routes of the famous Lakeland fell walker and guidebook author Alfred Wainwright. He was a Blackburn lad, who fell in love with the fells after a trip with his cousin up Orrest Head, near Lake Windermere. The beauty before him that day inspired Wainwright to move to the area and write a series of seminal guidebooks (now owned by any self-respecting fell walker), outlining 214 mountain summits. This magic number forms the basis of many a fell walker’s quest – to climb the 214 “Wainwrights”, which are scattered throughout the park. To do so brings a sense of achievement that has been available since Wainwright’s days of scaling those hills. 

The acquisition of the fell summits in this beautiful part of the country is one of many reasons why I love fell walking. However, it has so many more benefits than just being an excellent form of exercise coupled with beautiful, panoramic views.

Making an escape

Surgeons value order. Organisation and repetition are what make orthopaedic surgery and fell walking successful. The ritual of preparing for a day’s walking starts with a weather check with the Met Office and the Fell Top Assessors, and choosing a route. This could be an old favourite, taking in a well-known tarn or summit cairn, or the exciting trepidation of exploring a new route to an unfamiliar summit. The ritual continues with getting the suitable equipment and clothing ready for the next day’s expedition, setting a 5am alarm to make an escape to the mountains at 6am. I listen to the news during a peaceful drive and then finally arrive at my destination, swap my trainers for walking boots, put a rucksack on and “settle” it on my back, then anticipate my first view of the summit to be conquered that day. The quiet mindset that this encourages is wonderfully peaceful and streets away from that of a busy clinical practice. 

The sense of scale the fells give you is wonderful in its own right. As I plod along, I’m very aware that this landscape has been this way for millennia. There is also true joy for cartophiles in visiting different areas of the park and being able to piece together the geography, understanding how the fells and valleys connect. The grandeur and scale of the fells give one a feeling of insignificance, which is humbling but hugely relaxing when compared with the responsibilities of day-to-day life. 

While the peace and quiet of the fells is wonderfully conducive to thought, reflection and even prayer, the character of a fell top can alter wildly depending on the weather, season or time of day. The summit of Scafell Pike, England’s roof, can be a very pedestrian place to reach on a summer’s day, when you will be travelling a well-worn path along with droves of fellow walkers to a majestic but busy viewpoint. Visit the same location in winter – with knee-deep snow drifts and gales whipping loose snow into your face – and you soon realise the experience has gone from a carefree wander to an exhilarating yet perilous experience requiring specialist equipment, excellent navigational skills in challenging conditions and some nerve to get the most out of the day and return safely. 

The fells also change their appearance from hour to hour as the day progresses from dawn, through the golden hour and sunset to the pitch black of night when, if you’re very fortunate, the sky is clear and the glory of the heavens is revealed to you in a way that you might never have seen before. Add meteorological phenomena, such as cloud inversions and Brocken spectres, and it’s hard not to want to
go out again, just to see if you can witness Mother Nature’s spectacle once more.

The great outdoors is free

My favourite part of fell walking is not the chance for reflection or the challenge of an ever-changing environment but the fact that the fells are available to everyone. I love walking alone but walks with family, friends and colleagues, some more senior in years to me and perhaps a little slower, give everyone involved the opportunity to discuss, laugh and decompress. As the finale to a day’s trek, a “debriefing” in one of Cumbria’s beautiful, age-old pubs has its own charms after the day’s fells are conquered, boots are finally loosened and feet can breathe again.

Now, to me, that’s a lot of value for the price of some sturdy boots and a tank of petrol. It’s a price I’m incredibly happy to pay now and, hopefully, for some time to come.