If I could look upon a single scene everyday for the rest of my life I would choose this place, Wast Water, high in the fells of the Lake District. Wast water is a remote area of stunning beauty, I use the word stunning as that is the feeling you have upon first casting your eyes on this place. I remember so well driving through the lanes as they became smaller and more uneven, cattle grids interrupting the drive and the sensation that your wing mirrors were so close to the dry stone walls, that the slightest deviation from the centre of the road would lead to certain removal of said mirrrors! But, that moment when I drove over another cattle grid and passed the National Trust sign for Wast Water I took such a gasp of breath and promptly stopped the car, walked several paces and simply stood in awe at the view before me . The sheer height of the scree covered slopes rising almost vertically from the deepest darkest waters to touch the crystal skies, the contrast to the flat grassy outcrops manicured by the weather, the far shores framed by the rising majesty of Kirk fell, Red Pike, Great Gable and of course the most celebrated of Lakeland peaks Scafell Pike, Englands highest mountain. No written word could convey that feeling on that day in that place. Beauty yet a sense of foreboding combined in a single landscape, pleasure and pain await the cocky conqueror of its peaks, a place where first you loose your breath and then your heart.
A mini epic on Buttress Route
Scafell Pike, Lake District: The climber watched transfixed as his phone slid down the snow slope, bouncing off rocks and gathering speed