An early morning walk onto Scout Scar to photograph the winter sunrise over the Lake District turned out to be something I hadn’t expected.
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.
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.
I ate my breakfast under a pastel-blue sky and passed the time naming all the mountains. Many I recognised, some I just couldn’t quite identify. Opening my map onto the floor, I knelt down and tried to get a compass bearing to those I couldn’t name.
Mountain bikers and prayer
A couple of mountain bikers appeared in front of me. I think they were slightly amused to see a guy kneeling on the floor on must have resembled a prayer mat, facing north, at dawn. They rode past, glanced, and disappeared down the hill while I stood, satisfied that I now knew the mountain, and folded up my prayer mat.
Over my shoulder, the sun would soon be out of bed. It may be; I thought, that the picture would not be the one I had anticipated. A brilliant, golden forehead appeared over the horizon, and the golf course instantly turned from darkness into a dreamlike, misty-blue landscape. I watched and knew that this was going to make a great picture. Being me, the Lakeland Fells were refusing to turn a rosy-pink. It would be better to concentrate on what was happening over the golf course.

The snow on the Lake District mountains never did turn rosy-pink as I had expected – as I had been dreaming about all night.
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.
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.

In fact, it had done nothing but produce a drab, useless shot for my panoramic camera. The real shot had been unexpected, and exciting.
It was 9am; already a few people were out walking. I photographed them coming up the path, before having some more breakfast. As I was already up here on this amazing plateau, I might as well make a morning of it and walk the full length of Cunswick Scar and Scout Scar, to see what they had to offer. I was not disappointed. This small ridge and Scout Scar are truly the amazing gems of Kendal. I had heard about them often enough but never

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.
The day turned out to be fantastic, with plenty more photo opportunities along the way. I headed down Brigsteer Road back into town. It felt like I had been out all day, which in effect I had, although it was only noon. The incongruity of making an alpine start for a short walk. To climb a hill only 207m, in the dark, over snow and ice, using a head torch, had been surreal in a place like Kendal.



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