Wainwright's Walking Guide to the Lake District Fells - Book 3 The Central Fells

The view of the Ark across the waters of Stickle Tarn, at its foot, is superior to all others of this type in Lakeland . . .

. . . in that the scene, being invariable reached by the steep climb from Dungeon Ghyll, bursts upon the eye with dramatic effect.

The summit is an elevated ridge . . . The loftiness of the ridge and its commanding position endow a distinction to the summit that might be expected from its noble appearance in distant views.

16.25 Harrison Stickle summit

A Langdale Adventure

by Inkpotpoet

   Late October smiles adorn the autumn air;
   crisp to the touch like a greeting kiss
   under the golden canopy which shelters
   the foot of Stickle’s Ghyll from the
   evaporating sky. Waters cascading down
   the back of the ancient pic as footprints
   of ghosts echo beneath the young traversing
   under a watchful eye.

   As if from a dark and dingy dungeon
   open skies beckon awe; the Ark eager to
   receive two by two explorers in the new
   world. Amidst this revelation tears of boulders
   strewn from the eye of Jack’s face fumble
   fragile feet threading tentatively through
   the thoroughly trod path like a garden in
   the fall.

   Stickle Ghyll cannot extinguish the burst
   of flame from the thinning lips of the rowan
   standing proud at the water’s edge. Bright
   red lips kissing Autumn’s cheek, blushing
   the cheeks of young lives venturing upwards
   searching for their pinnacle born from deep
   within. Astronauts on a moon landing.

   An alien stands on its territory. The heron’s
   grey plumage, disguised against the dappled
   feature caressed by Stickle Ghyll, softens
   a tiring eye to rest as the moorland
   sits rusting like the back of an aged Norse’s
   Ford Cortina. Loved but only viewed. Then,
   as if walking through the wardrobe, the back
   of Pavey Ark arches over Stickle Tarn. Its spine
   visible through its flesh of moorland ripped
   apart as lapilli tuff punched through
   the millions of years of growth. The wound
   lays gaping under the warming autumn sun
   as the young explorers rest on a manicured
   wall. Stickle Ghyll’s rippling waters pat
   tenderly the harshness of the banks.

   A quick glance back. Harrison Stickle stands
   Watching the scene, its looming eye devouring
   with its gaze. No time to wade in the reflective
   pool, merely time to reflect tip-toeing across
   the limestone stepping stones. A children’s
   game. This is simply a resting spot.

   The peak awaits the final ascent with footfalls
   softened by the moorland grass. Each stride
   filled with pride in eyes surveying the world
   that spreads itself beneath.
   On top of the World.
   Piggy-backing on Pavey Ark’s stone spine.
   A blanket of tranquillity fills the air wrapping
   itself around the shoulders of young explorers.
   An embrace that gently scars itself to their
   memory of this plateau in the sky.

   Harrison beckons. Clouds gather, reflected in
   the tarn, a mirror to the world as ghostly
   figures float upon its shoulder. Beneath the surface,
   sirens gaze into the watching faces. Jealous that
   their world is wrapped in waters for homes below.
   A wave goodbye ripples the surface and they’re gone.

   Harrison Stickle stands proud. All around this alien
   world a multitude of peaks seek an audience, gathering
   around in hushed tones. They sit as keen as children awaiting
   a favourite story to echo through their history. Silence.
   Nothing to distil the crowded skies save the gentle rustling
   among the bilberry terraces. Their fruit as dark as the
   thunderous sky ripening with each bated breath as few climb
   Jack’s Rake. Peril.

   For most the plateau carries the weight of wonder between
   two cairns like ears listening to the voices
   speaking of the circus that sits below. Another world entirely.
   Out of sight.
   Out of mind.
   Out of reach.
   Peace.

   Late afternoon murmurs begin
   piercing the silence as the descent begins,
   quickening the ending of the day. The Langdales having
   enjoyed the company begin their slumber
   but not before a misplaced step brings
   roars of laughter. A landslide of echo
   to the lives below. The lost step
   imprinted on the soul of white.
   A ribbon to immortalise the
   steadfastness of exploration
   as the descent glorifies
   the vastness of the
   universe.

   Once again, the young explorers stand in the palm
   Of Langdale to gaze, once again, to the giants
   they have met.

   (C) A.J Westley 23rd Feb 2022