On the back of a few annual 20-mile walks around the Peak District, we three 50-ish brothers decided to up the ante and take on the Lake Wake Walk. Two of us had attempted the walk in 1993 as teenagers but had to abort after eight hours, having walked through the night in thrashing rain until we got lost in a quagmire somewhere along the way. It felt like we had unfinished business, so we roped the third brother in, hoped it wouldn’t rain and decided to start at a more appropriate time of day.
It was dark but happily dry, with the forecast for no rain for the rest of the day, which put a spring in our collective step. The first stretch was through gentle woods and fields until we reached the steep climb up onto the moors. We’d hoped to rattle off some 16-minute miles early on to compensate for the second half slow down, but the hills had other ideas.
As we wheezed our way up that first big climb, we wondered how and why we’d attempted to take that section on in the dark back in 1993. It was easier this time around and the sun was rising beautifully as we reached the tops. After a long series of downs and ups, we were happy to see the flat of the old train track and got our heads down, attempting to make up for lost time.
We reached the Lion Inn about an hour behind schedule and with several blisters, but we felt fresh enough. A revolting bag of something boiled and sludgy did more damage than good and we got back on our way.
Everything we’d read suggested the second half would be much harder, particularly over the boggy section, so we trudged away from the pub and prepared for a grind. But it never really came. The weather must have been kind in the run-up as the bog was mainly dry and the track easy to follow. Until it suddenly wasn’t, and we found ourselves walking through a forest of Christmas trees, somewhere on the edge of a massive and oddly terrifying forest – what we assumed was Wheeldale Plantation. This was almost impossible to walk through, but it turned out it was much easier than trying to cross the forest itself, which was absolutely impossible and, in retrospect, a very foolish idea. So, after battling through thick trees for an hour and adding 0.13 of a mile to our count, we retraced our steps, rediscovered the correct path and got our heads down again.
We could obviously see Fylingdales by this point, but as everyone notes on these reports, it never seems to get any closer. Morale was flagging as we reached the stepping stones, with one of the party now struggling badly with self-diagnosed ‘downhill knee’. When we finally got to the RAF base, we felt buoyant that it was only another six or seven miles to the finish. But either we’d miscalculated or Lyke Wake Walk miles aren’t the same as regular miles. We could see the sea from miles out but as with Fylingdales, that also never seemed to get any closer.
The final section, approaching Jugger Howe Beck, was actually very pretty, but by now the light was starting to fade and we were desperate to finish in daylight, so we trudged on until we finally ran out of track. Obligatory shots beside the finishing stone, we finished in just over 16 hours and got a taxi back to Osmotherley in silence and pain.
The next day we all vowed never to do it again. Once was enough.
Now, a few weeks later, with the blisters gone and the knee more or less back to normal, we’re planning another go. And this time we’ll know to avoid the forest.
Smethers, Budget and Nails.