High Cup Nick was spectacular. A gouge out of the landscape, we agreed it would probably be yet more breathtaking 1) were we to have approached it from the other direction and 2) had the weather been even half-way decent… But it was amazing nonetheless.
Right on its very top, we bumped into a walking party who told us the tale of an 18 year old girl they had encountered a little way back. They had spotted her apparently waiting for somebody, only to discover that it was indeed they for whom she was hoping… or anyone really… to help her out of the bog in which she had become stuck. Her story is one of bravery, actually. She had, at her tender age, started the walk with two friends; one of whom had twisted her ankle and had to leave, and the other had given up and gone home. But on she soldiered (not too happy to be identified by us, when we encountered her the following day, as the girl who had got stuck: “Does everyone know?!”) Anyhow, our walking party walked on and we filled our Aquapure in preparation for the first cup of tea we were to have on our funky stove.
And the rain it did rain and the wind it did howl… And our faces became fixed into the grimace of those who are determined to look like they’re having fun… We couldn’t stop for said cup of tea until we could find somewhere even vaguely sheltered, so we paused to rest our weary shoulders in a small dip, atop a rock, and ate a Snickers bar. From. The. Gods. It’s amazing, as one who is generally enormously snobby about chocolate (my favourite being Lindt 90% cocoa) how good a Snickers bar tastes under such conditions. It just wouldn’t have the same effect here in my comfy sitting room.
And on we marched, over that vast and exposed expanse of soggy grassland. And something miraculous happened… As we descended into Upper Eden Valley (yes, that really is its name), the sun emerged from behind the clouds, which blew away with alarming and delightful speed. And it stayed. We could see all sorts of revolting weather going on behind us, but overhead and before us were simply blue skies. We began peeling off layers: waterproof coats, fleeces, the legs of trousers…! Our path took us along the Eden River: a wide, babbling, rocky river of awe-inspiring beauty and proportions. We came to a bridge, rearranged some rocks to sit on, hunkered down out of the still rather powerful “breeze” and (drum-roll, please) made our first cup of tea on our funky stove. The water boiled in such a short time we were speechless. I opened a packet of plain chocolate Digestives and our bliss was boundless. Listen carefully to this next bit (especially as you’ll have to take care to remember these words when it comes to describing our supper): there is nothing in the world that can make you appreciate the smallest comforts when you are out in the wild with only the possessions you carry on your back. Nothing. You take only what you can carry. You possess, in time, only the moment in which you are living. Your company is only that person with whom you walk. Your entertainment is the awesome power of the nature that surrounds you. That afternoon I felt, possibly for the very first time, soaring contentment and an utter sense of peace. I should have been nervous: yet again our little book had misled us. We didn’t know where we were going to sleep for the night; we were once again in the middle of nowhere without a plan (our forte) and yet… It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. The world felt right.
We pushed on through that scenery, keeping an eye out for a suitable spot to make camp. We passed through deserted farmyards, greeted many, many sheep, and all the while the Eden River gargled nearby.
Shortly before dusk we were attacked. Yes, you heard right. Attacked. By blooming midges. Thankfully, my ever-prepared companion had had the foresight to read many an article on the absolute necessities of such an outing and we applied, most liberally, our insect repellant. Repeatedly, as it happened. It was necessary!
We heard it before we saw it. The crashing, thunderous roar of gallons and gallons of water falling tumultuously from great heights. Cauldron Snout (unhappily named, in my humble opinion, for such a spectacularly beautiful piece of natural architecture) is dramatic and regal and irresistible. We scrambled down the rockslide that passes for a path down the side of the falls and (I can hear celestial voices singing as I recall this bit) there, at the bottom, far from any hint of civilisation with one of the most beautiful of natural wonders this country can provide as our backdrop, was the perfect spot for a tent.
I washed our clothes in the river, marvelling at the happiness such basic living could inspire.
Behind me the thunderous falls and my view: our tent and the open vista of the Northumbrian Fells.
Nothing but the distant bleating of sheep for company. And weren‘t we pleased with ourselves:
That evening, we had wine – cleverly decanted into a plastic bottle to keep the weight down – to accompany our tuna and Smash. Yes, you heard right. Smash. Just add water! Tuna, Smash, a little olive oil, salt and pepper and some garlic flakes. My God, it was good! Yes, I mean it (remember I said you needed to mark my words?) So good to have hot food with some flavour (thanks to the bits and bobs we’d brought with us – plastic travelling bottles and pots from Boots are perfect), a glass of wine and survey the incredible scenery.
I hope I’m not waxing too lyrical, but I have to say that that afternoon and evening were the most perfect and magical of my life so far.
To wake up to that view isn’t bad either (she understated).
We were up with the lark, wild-camping style, packed up and off in the direction of High Force with this for our view:
Can you beat that?