Authors: Miranda Barnes
After breakfast Kirsty got herself ready quickly and set out to enjoy the spring sunshine. She strolled by the lake, along a rough path forged by sheep and countless walking boots. Here and there birch trees and hawthorn were coming into leaf already. No daffodils yet, though, she noted with a twinge of disappointment. Perhaps nobody had planted them in this part of the Lake District? But the grass was a brilliant green, and already providing something fresh for the rabbits as well as the sheep. And the sky was a wonderful blue again. Spring was most definitely here.
Oh, it was so beautiful! She stopped and gave an involuntary pirouette. Then she laughed at herself. She was very happy just to be here, to leave the office and the city behind for a few days. And Craig, too. She didn’t want to think of him either at the moment.
Thoughts of Craig were less pressing here anyway. She was glad of that. At home they just wouldn’t go away. Or, if they did, they had a way of returning when she wasn’t ready for them. Then she was guaranteed another sleepless night to add to all the others. But last night she had slept soundly. If anything, the rattling window had been a welcome accompaniment to sleep, not the disturbance Carol had warned her about.
She meandered by the lake for a couple of hours, enjoying the views and the feel of the fresh air sweeping across the water. Then she called in at a café at the far end of the lake for a cup of tea and a sandwich. She would have preferred to have brought a snack with her. She didn’t need much in the middle of the day. But, disappointingly, Fells Inn had been unable to provide a packed lunch.
‘Henry doesn’t want us doing that,’ a girl from the kitchen had said. ‘He says it’s not what he’s paying us for. Sorry.’
Kirsty had been surprised but she had tried not to let her disappointment show. It wasn’t the girl’s fault. From now on, though, she decided, she would keep a few things in the car. She would see what she could find in the little shop in the village. If nothing else, they ought to have apples and bananas, and chocolate bars and crisps. Bottles of water, too. She could manage. She didn’t need anything special.
On the way back, mid-afternoon, she heard the rattle of stones above her on the hillside. She looked up to see her fellow guest from the inn. Bob. He was sliding down a steep, stony section of path that was virtually a scree. Moving far faster than she would have cared to try. She watched for a few moments until he disappeared from view. He looked at home on the mountain, as if he knew what he was doing. He’d probably been high, she thought with a pang of envy, wondering what it was like up there.
She resumed her journey, feeling in good spirits and quite uplifted. Well, she thought, now she had tried out her own walking legs, maybe she could attempt something more adventurous herself tomorrow.
Back at the inn, she gratefully accepted the offer of a pot of tea from Carol.
‘Had a nice day?’ Carol asked when she re-appeared with a tray.
‘Lovely, thanks. I walked round the lake.’
‘All the way? Goodness! It must be seven or eight miles.’
Kirsty felt pleased someone had recognised her achievement. ‘Not bad for a townie, was it?’ she said lightly.
‘Very good, I would say. I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never done it. Or maybe I did once – when I was about eight years’ old.’
‘The same for me,’ Kirsty said with a laugh. ‘That’s when I last did it. I was with my dad.’
‘But you can still do it. I don’t think I could. Were there many people about?’
Kirsty shook her head. ‘A few in the cafe at the far end of the lake, but I only passed four people walking. Oh, yes! And I caught a glimpse of Bob in the distance. On Goat Fell. High up.’
Carol chuckled and nodded. ‘That would be Bob.’
‘He’s a real climber, is he?’
‘I suppose he is, yes. A fell walker, anyway.’
‘That will be why he’s here such a lot. Where’s he from?’
Carol shook her head. ‘I don’t really know. Somewhere in Lancashire or Yorkshire, I think. Some little place in that area.’
That covered a lot of territory, Kirsty thought with amusement. Lancashire or Yorkshire.
‘How about you?’ Carol asked.
‘Tyneside – Newcastle.’
‘A Geordie, eh?’
‘Through and through.’
‘A real townie.’
Kirsty nodded. ‘But I do like it here,’ she added firmly. ‘I like it a lot.’
***
A couple of days into her stay Kirsty decided she was ready to be more adventurous. She had her eye on Goat Fell, the big mountain overlooking the village and the lake, which she had spotted Bob descending in a hurry. It was a bright, sunny morning. The forecast was for showers later in the day, but there would be plenty of time before they arrived. Time enough, at least, for her to climb a little way up the mountain, maybe even to see the tarn half-way up.
Walking uphill was different to walking on the flat around the lake, she soon discovered. You got out of breath, for one thing – and very quickly. And the muscles in your legs soon began to hurt and threaten to snap. After a few minutes she stopped, shook her head and grinned ruefully. What am I like? She thought. How unfit can one person allow herself to become?
She shook her head again and got on with it. She knew already that she hadn’t a hope of reaching the tarn, which was a good thousand feet above the lake, but she did want to climb a little higher at least. The exercise would be good for her. It might even set her up for another day.
It was hard work, though. More time had passed than she cared to remember since she had last done anything to get herself out of breath. I used to be so fit, too, she thought ruefully. Fitter than this anyway. At school I even used to play hockey.
But it wasn’t only the need for exercise and the memories of past athletic glories that drove her onwards and upwards. Already the view was spectacular. The lake stretching away into the distance. The vivid green of the slopes on the other side of the valley. And in the far distance the tops of mountains a lot higher than Goat Fell. She felt a growing excitement.
And she felt good, happy, too. The cool air kissed her face. She could hear a breeze, higher up, whistling around rocky crags. A lamb called for its mother, and its mother’s voice echoed back between the rocks. She felt a long way from the city, and didn’t mind one little bit. She was beginning to feel quite exhilarated.
Here and there, paths converged. Some were just sheep trails, winding across the fellside. Others bore the imprints of walking boots. She alternated in taking them: a left here ; a right fork there. But always heading slowly upwards, until at last, and to her surprise, she found herself on the shores of Goat Tarn.
It was a stunning little lake. More like a mirror than a body of water. She slowed when she saw it, overwhelmed by the beauty of the place and by the knowledge that she had reached it, herself – unaided. Tired and aching, maybe, but here. Definitely here.
She sat by the water’s edge and slowly ate the chocolate bar she had brought with her, and the banana and the apple. Somehow the cheese sandwich she’d made didn’t appeal. She left it in her pocket and took a sip from the water bottle she’d brought.
Then the lake was partly obscured by a puff of thin cloud, like mist, that swept quickly across from nowhere. Time to go, she thought, looking round. Perhaps the promised showers were not far away.
As she started downhill, she realised she had left it a little late. The first of the showers had actually arrived. Damp, moist cloud, at least. Then thin drizzle. Her hair felt wet already. She smoothed it back and pulled up the hood of her jacket.
Not much of the valley could be seen now, and as she picked her way down the path the rest of it disappeared surprisingly quickly. She wasn’t concerned. Just disappointed that the sunshine and the view had gone so soon.
The path was easy to follow at first. She moved down it confidently until she reached the second or third junction. Then... had she taken the left or the right fork here? It didn’t matter. All routes led downhill. Or so she thought until the path she was on turned back uphill. She stopped and frowned. She didn’t remember this bit.
She turned round and could see nothing. Nothing at all. She was surrounded by a blanket of cool, moist air. Then it began to rain, rain properly. Within minutes the water was sliding down the back of her neck and somehow creeping up her sleeves and into her trainers. Her trousers stuck to her legs.
She still felt OK, though. Uncomfortable, but in control. And rational. She didn’t panic. She remained calm, reasonably cheerful even. But she knew that in time simple discomfort could turn into something more serious. Hypochondria, for instance. No. That was wrong. What was it she was thinking of? Hypothermia! That was it. How stupid she was.
Anyway, she knew she had to get down out of the cooling rain while she was still strong and warm. Easier said than done, though. There was little wind but the rain grew heavier and wetter. It was no longer a light shower. More the onset of serious stuff fresh from the Atlantic. And the cloud didn’t lift. If anything, it grew thicker. She walked down a little way, and then up again. Down some more. And all the time she sensed she was edging across the fellside. That didn’t feel right. Not at all.
She stopped. OK. Let’s think about it. There was no way she should be on a path leading upwards. She was supposed to be going down, for goodness sake.
It should be straightforward, too. She had come straight up ; she should be able to go straight down.
She turned round again and began heading back the way she had come. Ten or fifteen minutes walking brought her back to a junction she recognised. It had her own fresh boot print on it. This was where she had gone wrong. She’d turned left. Coming down from the tarn, she should have kept straight on.
A long rattle of stones kept her stationary for a moment. She stood still, alarmed, and listened. More noises. Someone else was coming down from the tarn. Thank goodness!
She waited. She heard the thud of heavy boots. Someone was moving fast. A dark patch appeared, and grew. It became clearer. She could make out a figure, looming ever larger. It spoke.
‘This is no place to be just now, is it? I hope Carol’s getting that fire lit for us.’
‘Oh, Bob!’ Kirsty giggled with nervous relief. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Trying to get down before the rain arrives.’
‘Well, you’ve failed. Just like me.’
‘So it seems.’
He reached her and stopped. He smiled and eased the hood of his jacket back. She was glad to see him. Glad to see anyone, but especially glad to see someone she knew. Sort of knew, anyway.
‘How far have you been?’ she asked.
He nodded over his shoulder. ‘To the top.’
‘Of Goat Fell?’
‘Yes. You?’
‘Oh, just to the tarn. I was feeling very pleased with myself for getting that far.’
‘It’s a stiff climb, especially if you’re not used to it. Come on. This rain’s getting heavier.’
It was, too, almost without her noticing. But she wasn’t concerned now. She was so pleased to be in company.
They set off, heading directly downhill. I should have done this, she thought. I don’t know why I wandered off to the side.
‘I didn’t see you up at the tarn,’ Bob said over his shoulder.
‘No. It’s a little while since I was there, I suppose. I left just as the rain was starting.’
‘An hour ago? You didn’t get lost, did you?’
‘Lost? Me?’ She gave a brittle little laugh. ‘Of course not.’
He stopped and looked at her sternly. ‘You got lost, didn’t you?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘You got lost.’
‘I always knew where I was,’ she insisted. ‘I just sort of… deviated. It wasn’t the path I wanted. But I was always on a path,’ she added defensively.
Bob relented and got moving again. ‘It’s easily done,’ he said. ‘Once the cloud comes in it’s easy to get disoriented. You think up is down, and right is left. You probably wandered across the fellside on a sheep track.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I think I probably did. I’d just come back to where I’d started when I heard you coming. You didn’t seem to have any doubts about where you were, though.’
He didn’t now either, she thought, as he plunged on down the path.
‘Oh, I know this mountain like the back of my hand. I ought to, the times I’ve been up it.’
‘It’s your favourite?’
‘Seems to be.’
They hit some steep screes. Conversation became difficult. They had to concentrate on their footing. They didn’t really speak again until they were at the bottom and crossing the field towards the inn.
‘I enjoyed that,’ Kirsty said, glancing back.
‘Getting cold and wet, and lost?’
‘Being up there. Under my own steam. Feeling the wind and the rain.’
‘You’ll likely be stiff tomorrow,’ he suggested with a grin.
‘I’m sure I shall be. It’s a long time since I’ve had such an energetic day.’
‘You’ve done well, in that case.’