It seemed a little incongruous, ethereal even, to be walking out of Kendal early in the morning – my path illuminated only by the dim light from a head torch. Dreamily, I wandered back some years. To the times when I used to set out on alpine climbs at ungodly hours. Feeling slightly groggy at the early morning rise and shivering in negative temperatures. Listening to the sounds of rasping coughs and squeaking, frozen snow, underneath cold, steel crampon blades. The only vague comparison today, on this early, dark Cumbrian morning, was the sound of frozen snow crunching underneath my boots. Semi-dawn light surrounded me, breaking into the shadows. I had left Fellside and now began to climb along the side of Serpentine Woods, heading for Kettlewell Crag and Cunswick Scar.

Alpine Start

You might well ask – and you probably should – why on earth was I climbing out of Kendal on such a secretive mission. Not many folks had yet risen, it was 6.30 and still dark, although a few lights had come on in the houses that I had passed. The reason I was now breaking through black, skeletal trees below the crag, was because I intended to take a photograph of the winter sunrise over the Lake District. I was certain that the sun’s rays would paint the mountains with a rosy-pink paintbrush, and it would make a great picture. That was why I had got out of bed on this freezing morning at 5am.

The torch picked out a shadow in the undergrowth; then it was gone. I was relieved to reach the wall again and the path. The stile opened onto the golf course, and I emerged into the light.

Yesterday, the weather forecast had a predicted a morning with clear skies. The perfect dawn. I was agitated,

apprehensive about reaching the summit of Cunswick Fell before the sun rose. If I didn’t then my early rise would have been for nothing. I knew the shot I wanted; it had been painting my mind all evening.

Runners in dawn’s light

On the golf course, while studying my map by torchlight, a figure appear over the crest of the green to my left. He was running. I recognised his gait – his brilliant yellow jacket and his dog following.

This slightly enthusiastic labour of love had been born the previous day, during my first excursion onto Scout Scar. We had only just moved to Kendal from Windermere, and, with my daughter, after someone’s passionate advice, we decided to explore the area. What I found, amazed me. It was a glorious day. A fantastic panorama opened up before our eyes as we reached the summit of Cunswick Fell: the whole of the central Lake District fells were before us, in a continuous line along the horizon. My eyes slowly moved along Coniston Old Man, Bowfell, Scafell, The Langdale Pikes, past Ambleside, over Fairfield, the Kentmere Fells, Longsleddale and finally the Howgill Fells, to name but a few.

Alfred Wainwright

I recollect Alfred Wainwright commenting, that it was the view from Orrest Head in Windermere that had given him his love for the Lakeland hills. I wonder how that could have been. As he lived in Kendal, he must have come to this very spot and seen this amazing view.

“Hello Tony,” I whispered. He seemed rather shocked. I couldn’t see his face. He was a little wary about this stranger standing in the gloom. Then he recognised me. We had talked for a minute before he pointed towards the best path. I followed him as he gained the ground over the footbridge that crossed the dual carriageway.

Cunswick Fell rose indistinctively ahead of me, covered in early-morning frost. My faint shadow appeared on the ground to the side of me, indicating that the sun was getting up. The race was on; I quickened my pace. I knew there was enough time to reach the summit before it fully awoke and climbed over the horizon.

I was surprised: fell runners kept passing me. Tiny pinpricks of light danced all over the fell. I had only just reached the summit when another runner caught up with me, and, passing by, touched the cairn and shot back down the hill. Home, I suppose, for a change, breakfast, and then off to work.

Heading for ‘Middle Earth’

So today, I am emerging from the woodland below Kettlewell Crag. Faint paths, painted by Stygian gloom, lead out of the trees. I must admit, that, in the dark, the place is a little intimidating. I feel like Bilbo entering the poisoned woods of Middle Earth; not sure whether something or someone was suddenly going to jump out of the darkness. Something rustled; I swung my head.

Wrapping myself up against the cold, I looked at the snow on the ground, now covered by early morning frost. I watched the different hues as the sun rose. It felt good to be here, alone, for now. The biting cold, the solitude of the landscape, the lights in the town where people just starting their day, all contributed to the sense of euphoria that the fells can bring. The mountains were emerging from the shadows, awakened by the sun’s rays creeping over the horizon.