Wainwright's Walking Guide to the Lake District Fells - Book 7 The Western Fells

It is a test of iron discipline to pass without halting
several large comfortable boulders athwart the path.

AW, The Western Fells, Haystacks 5.

15.26 Grasmoor above High Snockrigg

Unabashed and Unashamed

by Inkpotpoet

   Modern day prospectors carried
   upon the grey back of Honister Pass
   as the Fells peaks watch wistfully
   from on high. Sad sheep enclosed. Eager
   to be set free. Their bleating cries
   resound across Warnscale Plantation
   only to return unheeded as the
   golden grass of Gatesgarth murmurs
   under the warming morning sky. The
   starting point: the first day of
   September. Ascend.

   Peggy’s Bridge creaks over the flowing
   Warnscale Beck like some ancient
   cathedral door trying to withstand the
   Inquisition. A lament belying those
   with excitable smiles undaunted amidst
   the grandeur spread before them over
   the lush valley of Buttermere, resplendent
   in her emerald gown.

   Forwards. Upwards. Never backwards. Each step
   breaking new ground as splintered rocks cascade
   with an operatic voice uplifting even the
   weariest souls. A moment of reflection. A glance
   to check one’s place within the universe and
   ferns and grass confirm with a quietus charm
   that all is well as soft cumulus shade the Fell,
   like a blanket wrapped around the world.

   But pausing for a breather
   with Fleetwith Pike in slumber
   with ripped up sandstone makes
   a throne though merely to allow
   mortals to marvel at Earth’s creation
   before the homage continues; another step
   here, another step there. A waltz
   around the moon-landing fissures
   that pierce violently the gentle slope
   with weathered faces. Watchful eyes
   to those that sit and stare in silence.

   Some shadowing sheep bleat
   their presence, breaking the soundless
   awe, awaking the senses to revel
   in their current setting. Though
   this is a well-trod path, new steps
   are taken with pride matched only
   by each breath’s response. Thrown
   in echo from on high as Haystacks
   disrobes itself from its green mantel,
   leaving naked its short, rocky spine.

   Undulating, Haystacks’ head sits
   atop shoulders just as bare with
   Tarns Innominate and Blackbeck, tears
   pooling in the sky form the soaring
   curved profile. Cairns sit guard at
   either end of the ridge as if to signal
   the rise and fall of this volcanic empire.
   A crowning glory in andesite.

   A time to rest among the purple saxifrage,
   a blush upon the cheek of Haystacks
   with its embarrassment of riches.

   Descend. Between cavernous shoulders,
   strides are widened by gravity’s pull
   but Fleetwith spires a natural wonder
   as before; a guard of honour. Views
   are now fronted like greeting arms,
   spilling out ahead as a walk-in
   painting thrown across the Buttermere
   Valley. A moment to savour.
   Moments to savour.
   Hearts racing full of wonder.
   One last look back at Haystacks.

   (C) A.J Westley 23rd Feb 2022