A preliminary survey of the Lakes Divide concept in Summer 2023

Words by Tom, imagery by Stef and Luke

Duke of Wellington.

General Erwin Rommel.

Major Frank Reynolds.

Until a few weeks ago, I was convinced the phrase ‘time spent in recce is seldom wasted’ was coined by my Dad. My old man – aka Major Frank Reynolds – had plenty of catchphrases, stories and tales. But this. This was his No. 1.

We recce’d everything. The best route to the supermarket. Parking options for under-13 cricket matches. The best walking route from our house to the dentist.

As with a lot of my Dad’s stories, they weren’t necessarily true.

Or they were often borrowed, like this one. Turns out, people (well, mainly high-profile military leaders) have been banging on about the important of recce’s for hundreds of years.

Just to be clear from the outset, recce here means reconnaissance, the dictionary definition for which is either:

- military observation of a region to locate an enemy or ascertain strategic features.

Or, more simply.

- preliminary surveying or research.

For the purposes of this story, we’re dealing with the later. We weren’t locating an enemy.

Rather, myself and Peak Divide co-founders Luke Douglas and Stefan Amato went to the Lake District in the summer of 2023 for a spot of preliminary research.

Because it was a recce, or perhaps because my Dad often comes into my thoughts when I’m doing a super tiring/taxing physical activity (this was a 75km fastpacking run over two days), my old man’s catchphrases punctuated my weekend’s thoughts.

Like all good recce’s, they begin at the planning phase.

According to the National Army Museum (and they should know), the Duke of Wellington, aka Arthur Wellesley, was a leader known for his defensive strategies.

It’s fair to say, me and Arthur share a couple of character traits.

I like to think we’d probably have been kindred spirits when it comes to descending trails (slow and steady, always).

Leaving Keswick, southbound into Borrowdale

One thing I’m convinced old cautious Arthur would have baulked at is Stefan suggestion days before the trip that we should ditch our sleeping bags.

To be fair the weather was set fair. And, we had said we wanted to fastpack the two-day, 75k route from Keswick to Kendal.

However, we were already bivvying out for the night meaning our sleeping set-up consisted of just two things – bivvy bag and sleeping mat. A no-sleeping-bag-experiment. Hardly the height of luxury but, Stef has bikepacked all over the world, including finishing seventh in the Silk Road Mountain Race so we went for it.

Well, Luke and I did. Stef did stay true to the bivvy bag + sleeping mat agreement to be fair.

It’s just he brought a winter spec down jacket, leg warmers plus a woolly hat and thick winter socks in a 30 litre, at least, backpack. And a sketching kit. Obvs.

Luke and I meanwhile were channelling our inner Rommel.

The ‘Desert Fox’ was known for military tactics built around speed, mobility, and adaptability.

For warmth, our sub-20litre fastpacks contained a down jacket, running leggings and not a lot else. Light, certainly, but not that warm, even on an unseasonably hot night in the high Lakes.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Before we got to our overnight bivvy spot in Tarn Hows there was the small matter of running nearly 40km southwards through the Lake District from Keswick.

Now then, for full disclosure, this recce was run in the spirit of the Classic Peak Divide event we co-founded earlier this year. As this headline in the Guardian said, the Peak Divide is a ‘journey not a race’.

Basically, that means we run, walk, shuffle. Eat some Victoria Sponge. Take some beautiful photos (Luke and Stef that is). Stop for a sketch (Stef) and a daredevil cliff dive (Luke) and generally try to take in the scenery as well as covering a marathon distance.

My role was to muse on my Dad’s capacity to spin a story, and generally to stare at the scenery. The only time I’d set foot in the Lakes before was on a bike. This was my first time on two feet.

It definitely had a different feel to the Peak District for me.

Bigger, more expansive and generally more Alpine.

In the valleys, it felt like you were surrounded on all sides. And on the way up the hills there were sometimes multiple options to the point that we had the chance to take Catbells Terrace on our way up and out of Keswick.

I feel like Rommel (speed, mobility, adaptability… remember) would have taken the terrace rather than needlessly summiting Catbells. As we made that call, a second Major Frank Reynolds-ism came into my head, and out of my mouth.

‘Discretion is the better part of valour lads. Let’s stay on the lower path.’

Predictably, Google tells me the phrase meaning it’s better to avoid a dangerous situation than confront it, doesn’t hail from Frank Reynolds circa 1994. Instead, it was in Shakespeare’s Henry IV (16th century) that it first appeared.

Either way, it felt relevant. And not for the first time, we made what felt like the more prudent choice and stayed low.

All jokes aside a successful couple of days runpacking does feel like it boils down to a consistent combination of good decisions.

Keeping moving as much as possible, however slowly, is close to the top of that list.

As a rule, when we three are on the move, on foot, food is consumed on the move.

An Outdoor Provisions bar, an Aldi vegan worm, a chunk of Borrowdale Tea Bread.

All did the job of keeping us going as we put Keswick behind us and journeyed up the Langstrath valley up and over Stakes Pass before dropping down for dinner in the Langdale Valley at the Hikers Bar at Old Dungeon Ghyll.

Dinner was the exception to the ‘let’s keep moving’ rule.

We literally had our beds (some more luxurious than others) for the night – we were wild camping – on our backs. As a result, there was none of that insecurity you can sometimes feel about needing to get to the accommodation. There was nobody to text with a planned arrival time. In fact, for the perfect wild camp it’s obviously often better to arrive with under a slight cover of darkness to help with not getting caught.

There was no danger of that for us.

Earlier in the day I felt (sort of) like a fastpacking pioneer with my superlight Patagonia pack and fresh legs.

As the night drew in and with 2 x lager shandies, 1 x pie + chips & 1 x sticky toffee pudding to my name the desert fox I most certainly was not.

Still, we had bed + breakfast on our backs so it didn’t really matter how slow we plodded to our camp for the night.

Reveille.

Definition - from the French word ‘reveillez’, meaning to ‘wake-up’, was originally played as a drum beat just prior to daybreak. Its purpose is to wake up the sleeping soldiers and to let the sentries know that they could cease challenging.

FYI. There’s no need for reveille if you haven’t been to sleep.

Due to the fall-out from sleeping bag-gate, while Stefan slept soundly Luke and I did not.

As a result, we were up and about early, which was a blessing as Tarn Hows was a sensational spot for an Amato-Douglas camp brekkie.

The light was dreamy. And the Outdoor Provisions nut butter x Crumpets x Marmite combo we dreamed up in Keswick a day previously turned out to most definitely be a thing. Especially when served with fresh Moka pot coffee a 3-in-1.

Stef and Luke (when circumnavigating the world by bike) have both drunk 3-in-1’s all over the world. I had to go 100 miles from my house in Manchester to try it for the first time.

Essentially it’s instant coffee, sugar and milk in powder form. Probably a bit ropey if you served it at home. After a night of very little sleep. Perfect.

Post breakfast we packed bags and plodded onwards through central Lakeland towards Hawkshead. Water was replenished and fuzzy teeth were brushed. Foot Ferries were taken (£1 per person, across Windermere) and decisions were made.

First, Stef channeled his inner Henry IX and made the call to get a train for the last 15km (discretion & valour again).

Then Luke and I decided a midday panache was the only way to get through a last 10km which was starting to feel tough. This bit of the route needed a rethink.

With a kilometre left, and having, frankly, got f***d off with a Komoot re-route we ditched the smart phone and the trails and took to the pavement alongside the main road.

It meant we took in the Welcome to Kendal sign.

Which told us that this town in the Lake District in northern England is twinned with a small town in north west Germany called Rinteln.

Not long after Rommel had taken his cyanide (it was that or face a treason trial for being part of a plot to assassinate Hitler), and Germany had been defeated in WWII, Rinteln and the surrounding part of northern Germany became a British occupation zone.