The Lake District

I have one last summer 2016 adventure to share before I start blogging in real-time again.  Truth is, I’ve been holding off on this post because I’m not entirely sure how to put my experience into words.  Sometimes, it’s hard to be completely honest with my feelings when sharing my stories on the blog. There’s some unspoken blogging rule that when talking about travel adventures everything must be rainbows and unicorns and when it doesn’t work out as planned, you gloss over the dirty details.  Well, I’m going to break that stigma now and share with you one of the worst holidays I’ve ever taken. 

Between my trip to Canada and Portugal, I spent 5 days hiking in the Lake District-- a rather large National Park north of Manchester in the UK.  It had never really been on my list of places to go until Jasper had shared some of his pictures with me.  The landscape was absolutely stunning! In addition, it seemed like such a great place to hike.  There are small villages scattered throughout the park that you can easily walk from place to place within a day.  Added bonus are all the pubs! There was no need to carry any food which was a very attractive idea.  I didn’t think this trip would be something I did right away until I got chatting with a friend who lives in the UK.  She was itching to experience some hiking and thought the Lake District was a wonderful adventure we could go on together.  Before we knew it, flights/trains were booked and we were set to hike together for a few days.  Unfortunately, Natalie couldn’t get the extra time off work, so she was only joining for the weekend and I was going to be alone for the remainder of the trip.  I was looking forward to experiencing solo travel and was super excited to experience the beauty of the Lake District. 

Life threw me my first lemon the second we entered the National Park. You see, I knew we’d be out in the boonies but I expected the little towns in between to be more like functioning little towns instead of two or three houses. Essentially this translated into nonexistent cellphone reception which normally is no bother for me. I’m usually the person who forgets their phone everywhere because I just don’t care. Except this time. Being that Natalie and I didn’t have a solid itinerary beforehand and the fact that I was hiking alone after Natalie left, I had promised to keep Sander super up-to-date with what was going on. Kinda hard when reception is ridiculous and stressful when you’re receiving his somewhat panicked “I haven’t heard from you at all, are you okay?” messages without being able to respond to them!

I pushed it out of my mind for the night and woke up ready to hike the next day. That is until I read his other messages wondering if everything was okay.  I was hoping to send a message sometime that day, but that chance never came. I was absolutely obsessed with finding reception all day long but had absolutely no luck.  I was feeling quite anxious about it and in the end it sort of tainted my enjoyment of hiking for the day because I could not just push it out of my mind.

That aside though, our first day of hiking was epic. And overly ambitious. Initially we planned on doing these hikes over two days, but we (maybe just me?) didn’t want to hike with our backpacks. After trekking through the Rockies with it, I was so over the whole point-to-point aspect of hiking. Sander and I did 25km with 30+lbs on our backs, so I figured 30ish kilometers would be fine with just day packs. I mean, people run 42km all at once, right? Well, turns out we weren’t quite cut out for it.

I was pretty much done at the half way point, and we hadn’t even covered the hard part yet. Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful and I loved it, but I was tired (not to mentioned jetlagged because this was the day after I had flown back to Europe) and we still had two steep ascents left. Apparently jetlag and hiking aren’t a good mix. Lesson learned. We meandered through Wasdale Head, grabbed an amazing cappuccino, and hit the trail again. In the wrong direction. I have a few major complaints about the Lake District and their ridiculous trails is one of them. NONE of them are marked. There is no sign at the trail head saying “Black Sail Pass this way” or anything of the sort. Luckily I had a trail map and I’m pretty alright at reading them (if I'm paying attention), but the lack of signage was annoying. And tiring.  One time, we had hiked over 2km in before I realized that the river was on our right and it should be on our left. We tried fording it, but it was just too wide and deep. We couldn’t find a good access point, so we ended up turning around and going back. So that added extra time and took extra energy. Annoying, but not a big deal, we still had plenty of daylight left. My only concern was getting a message to Sander asap and it appeared that I was out of luck anyway.

So, on we went. We totally owned the crazy ascent and grabbed an energy bar to celebrate. We were ready to head on when we had realized the trail was not visible. We got to the top and it just disappeared. No sign, no markers, no nothing. We tried going this way, that way, this way again, and then eventually using the map and geography around us, we decided that we needed to go straight ahead.....down a massive massive descent....where there was no trail at all. But we knew we needed to go that way! So we took the chance. When we rounded the corner and saw the Black Sail Hut, I was so relieved. That’s the second time in my life that I was beyond relieved the see a hut. Being stuck in the middle of nowhere, unsure whether you’re walking the right way and knowing that you absolutely cannot turn back because it’s too far is not a cool feeling.

Anyway, we finally made it to the main road and there was a little food cart at the bottom. We got some juice and rested for a moment while chatting with some locals. I was on a hunt for wifi or reception and I was asking locals what my best bet was. Apparently I had no chance, which just made my heart sink even further. They couldn’t believe we were planning on walking to Seatoller, but we had missed the bus and had no other option. The lady insisted that we were insane and suggested trying to lift a ride along the way. She said it was a steep and long walk back to camp. We walked for about 5 minutes before I saw a warning sign mentioning that the road is only suitable for vehicles that can handle 25% grade. TWENTY FIVE PERCENT. That’s steep in case you didn’t know. After seeing that, feeling our fatigue and me freaking out more about messaging Sander, we decided to hitchhike. We let the first vehicle pass because we were too chicken to do it, but vowed that the next one we would stick out our thumbs. We heard the vehicle coming up behind us, threw out our thumbs and guess who pulled up beside us and yelled hop in? The lady we were talking with earlier! She said she just couldn’t go home knowing we were out there walking 10 more kilometers. We were forever grateful for her generosity. It really did save us some time and some energy of what energy we actually had left.

She dropped us off at our camp and we continued walking straight to the pub to grab some dinner and hopefully some reception or wifi for me. As we were walking there, I got “It has been over 24 hours and I still haven’t heard anything from you. Are you okay? Please message me” from Sander. Well, that was just the end of it for me. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I made it my mission to find wifi even if I had to pay. We went into the hotel next to the pub and I explained myself and asked if I could have the wifi password. No. Not even if I paid for it. At that point, I was just standing there trying to think of another option and then all of a sudden the lady said “Borrowdale. All upper case. And don’t come back here tomorrow because I will get in trouble”. At that point, I just burst into tears and thanked her.  After messaging Sander and letting him know that I was alive and that reception was awful we headed to the pub for a well-earned burger and pint of beer.  We had an awesome visit, made a plan for the next day and hit the hay early.

The next day, the weather took a turn for the worse. Like much, much, much worse. We packed up our tent in the rain and made our way to Rydal Water. We set up our tent, in the rain of course, had lunch and packed our day packs. The weather sucked, but we weren’t going to let it get us down. We were hiking Helvellyn– one of the highest peaks in England with a pretty stellar view.

Right when we got to the trailhead, the rain let up and the sun came out! It was gorgeous. We did a super duper happy dance and marched uphill. And then it started drizzling.  And then it started pouring. And then it got super windy. And then it started raining even harder. FYI, wind + rain = soaked to the bone. What kept me going was the view at the end.  I was so excited to enjoy this view:

But instead, this is what we saw:

It was such a huge disappointment. But we did it. We persevered and I was proud of us for it. It wasn’t the easiest climb, nor the easiest descent. It was so cold, so windy and so rainy. We were both soaked and just wanted to be warm again.  Little did we know that the most challenging part of the hike was still ahead of us.

By the time we got down, it was POURING. I know I’ve been saying it was pouring the whole time, but this time it was absolutely dumping buckets on our heads. We were seriously soaked all the way through. We went to the bus stop to wait when we decided to check how long we had still. According to the booklet we had, we knew that the last bus was at 19:45 up the road from us. We checked the times on the post at the stop, and it said the last bus was at 17:50. I looked at my watch, 18:21. My heart sank. How can the booklet be wrong!?! I figured it had to be old schedule posted at the bus stop. So I checked the fine print: “Updated 04/07/2016”. And my heart sunk even further. I refused to believe it. There was no way we were stuck out there. But the reality was sinking in. We were stuck. We were about 25km away from our campsite. It was pouring rain. We were both shivering. There was no reception. No pay phone. There was no footpath or even a shoulder on the side of the road to walk on. It was only an afternoon hike so we had no extra food. No lights. Nothing. As this sunk in, I still refused to believe there was no bus coming. How could the booklet be wrong!? We weren’t stupid hikers. We had checked the last bus times to make sure this wasn’t going to happen. We had a turnaround time that we were well ahead of.  Yet, there we stood, water gathering in our boots, freaking out. Pretty sure at some point, I started yelling out of frustration. It was like everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. And with our luck, we’d end up hitchhiking with a serial killer and dying on this trip.

At this point, it was 18:45 and according to the booklet, there was a bus stopping up the road at that time. I proposed waiting until 19:00 before officially freaking out and giving up on the idea of there being a bus. In the meantime, we were trying to hitch a ride with someone. We didn’t really care how we got to our campsite, we just needed to get there or at least to the closest town where we could call for a taxi or something. It was getting late and there weren’t going to be many cars passing for much longer. Not to mention it was getting dark and we had no lights. Walking on the side of a windy, narrow road with no shoulder at night with no lights sounds like the second way we could have died on this trip.

A bunch of cars passed, and no one would stop for us. I was beginning to get really really really worried. My heart was in my throat and every bad thing that could happen was going through my head.  And then we heard another vehicle coming. A big one. A truck maybe? Or a bus? I just remember chanting “please be a bus, please be a bus, please be a bus, please be a bus” over and over. When it came up the hill and we saw the glowing 555 along the top, we both cheered and began waving our arms in the air while laughing giddily. It was one of those moments where you either laughed or cried, and apparently we decided to laugh. We were so incredibly relieved that we weren’t stranded!

Eventually we got to our campsite, grabbed our stuff and took a nice long hot shower. This was followed by a traditional English roast dinner in the pub and the most amazing sleep ever.

The next day, I woke up and was immediately greeted by the pounding rain on our tent. It had not let up. At all.

After waiting and waiting to see if it would ease, we decided to just get on with the day. I decided to stay at that campground after Natalie was gone. There were hot showers, a nice pub with free wifi and that way I didn’t have to pack up my tent in the rain. Win, win, win as far as I was concerned. Our plan was to walk to the next town where Natalie would catch her bus to the train to go home. Within 3 minutes, we were both soaked. It was pouring rain so hard. Natalie decided to take the bus all the way instead, and I headed to the pub for a coffee and some wifi to see if the weather was supposed to get better. It wasn’t.

I was so over the whole trip. I just wanted to go home. My hiking boots were giant puddles, all my hiking clothes were soaked, everything else was damp, I was afraid to take the bus anywhere because who knows if it’s actually going to show up and the trails, well, if they’re actually marked, good luck navigating them.

I was not having fun. Not in the slightest bit.

I was whatsapping Sander when he suggested I come home early. I looked up the cost to change my flight and decided to go for it. I was one more bad experience away from having a total meltdown. What’s the point in traveling if you just aren’t having fun? I’m usually able to see the good things in a bad situation, but this time, I just couldn’t keep myself afloat with happy thoughts.  I rebooked and was very excited to be heading home early. I hid in my tent for the rest of the day drinking the delicious beers Natalie brought for me, reading my book, listening to pod casts and napping. Around 6pm the rain finally eased to a drizzle and I went out for a short walk. The sun actually came out for a bit and it was gorgeous. Combined with knowing I was heading home the next day, it totally lifted my spirits.

I woke up the next morning to more rain. Packed up my stuff (and nearly 2kg of water) and got out of there.

All in all, the Lake District was probably one of the worst holidays I’ve ever gone on. Some of it was my own fault, but most of it was out of my control and apparently I just couldn’t cope this time around.  I don’t regret the trip by any means but I also don’t regret going home early. Sometimes you just have to admit to yourself that enough is enough and take the experience as a life lesson.  In hindsight it wasn't all that bad and I can now laugh at myself for being such a wuss.